The Ventriloquist
by Shine Q
Summary: Quatre is a novelist who meets a strange man, supposedly the true owner of the eerie house he's occupying. Can he stay after learning the history of the house and the man who continues to live in it?
1. Chapter 1

**The Ventriloquist (Part One)**

"So tell us about yourself."

"I uh... like to write and umm..."

"Let me help you out. So, what kind of food do you like?"

"Umm..."

"Any significant other?"

"No."

"...looks like we're running out of things to talk about."

Quatre wrung his hands together. Although he was on the phone, the stress of having to deal with a radio talk show was something he wasn't used to. Try as he might, he couldn't stop the strange feeling at the pit of his stomach that triggered his lack of response. There was just something about being on air, heard by millions of listeners that had him in a knot. Never mind that he was making a complete fool of himself. He just wasn't used to it and he doubted that he would get used to it in the next few minutes he was to talk to the host of the said radio show.

He had to remind himself that the reason he was there was to promote his newest book, a surprising hit among readers of all ages. If he'd known popularity would be that difficult, he wouldn't have published the book in the first place. Now he was a nervous, stuttering wreck trying to get through the next ten minutes of his life. He wondered just what he should say to win his audience back.

Quatre let out a nervous chuckle and hoped that the host might give him a break, maybe talk instead about something he was familiar with or at least something he was comfortable with.

"I'm sure the audience would love to hear the rest of this young lady's voice. Now then, don't be shy. A genius such as yourself should be proud of your work."

Quatre swallowed the lump in his throat. Did the host just refer to him as a woman? Sure, his name was of neutral gender but then he did sound like a man, didn't he? He thought it best to clear up the misunderstanding before he'd have to deal with the rest of his career as a woman.

"Umm, I'm a he."

There was a bit of silence before the host finally regained his composure. Such a mistake was not good for the ratings after all.

"I was just kidding," the man on the other end of the line said and then chuckled. "I was just hoping to get a reaction from you. So now that we all know you're still on the line, why don't you tell us more about the author of this bestseller?"

He was locked in place again. Why was he making the encounter more complicated than he should? He was only making things more difficult for himself and the host.

"Have any pets?"

Quatre covered the receiver before letting out a long breath. Now that was a topic he was familiar with.

"Yes," he answered.

"Bingo!" was the exclamation from the other end of the line. "So tell me Quatre, how many cats do you have?"

Quatre's eyes narrowed in confusion. Why ever would someone think that he was a cat person? Perhaps it was the way he wrote? He thought it best to clear the matter up again lest his dear pet get jealous.

"I don't have any cats," he said. "I just have a dog."

"Ooh, interesting. Is it a Chihuahua by any chance?"

"Umm, no."

"So you're making me guess, huh? How about a Yorkshire Terrier?"

"No."

"A Shih Tzu?"

"No."

"A Maltese?"

"No."

Quatre's unease was slowly turning into annoyance. Did he sound at all like he was into tiny dogs? Did he write like such a pansy that he not only sounded like a woman but also sounded like a woman with twelve cats or possibly a man with a small dog? If that was what the readers suspected then he was not going to stand for it. Besides, his pal would be outraged if he found out that he was being taken for a Chihuahua.

"Time's up," Quatre said, hoping that he sounded like he was enjoying the little game. "He's an Old English Sheepdog."

"Oh, I didn't take you for a big, shaggy dog lover. Who would've known you'd go for the dumb ones?"

Quatre sighed and then groaned but not before putting his hand over the receiver. It was going to be a long night. His pal suddenly barked a loud one, probably protesting the comment.

"Shows you just how much he knows," Quatre muttered before uncovering his hold on the phone and letting out another chuckle, one that tricked people into thinking that he was enjoying the talk. He just had to hold on for another few minutes before his time was up. He just hoped that he didn't end up lecturing the man on just how intelligent his dog was.

oOo

"You need the break."

"I know."

"Then why won't you accept?"

"Because I like where I live right now."

"Like I said Quat, you're going to love this new place. It's close to nature and far away from humanity. Noam's going to love it there."

"I highly doubt that," Quatre answered, ignoring the obvious whoops of excitement coming from his companion. Let it not be said that he was giving in to his dog's requests without a fight.

"Look, after that first bestseller of yours, we're going to need something new. You just can't leave the rest of the population wondering what happened to you. You need a new book, a new romance, something to spark more life into your blossoming career."

"Yeah, yeah," Quatre said. "After making a fool of myself on live broadcast I'm sure they're excited about what I'm going to cook up next."

"Exactly."

"I was being sarcastic."

"I know."

Quatre had to massage his temple. Was he ready to make such a drastic change in his life? Could he not work just as peacefully in his current living situation?"

All of a sudden, a loud car crash resounded from outside his window. What followed was a heated argument followed by blaring loud sirens that went on and on until his impending headache was blown into tremendous proportions. So maybe he needed to be somewhere quiet. Couldn't he just uproot his current apartment and transfer it elsewhere, preferably somewhere where the population was more than 1500?

"Here's the address. Get ready with your things because the movers are going to be here tomorrow morning at 11am sharp. Oh, and give Noam a doggie treat on me. I'm sure he hated that Chihuahua comment."

"Fine," Quatre said in defeat. It had been planned all along and he knew he was going to move to his new place whether he liked it or not. The only redeeming value to it was that his house had already been paid for, furniture and all. All he had to do was live in it and write.

"And you look like you need food. Eat up or else you'll look like a pansy. Order take-out or delivery. It's on me."

Quatre groaned again and watched as his manager left for the door. So, they thought he was a little too soft? Was there a problem with that?

He sat back on his couch and thought of the more important reason why he didn't want to leave in the first place. If they expected him to live in the middle of the woods then he would be moved further away from human contact. He had very little friends as it was. Well, he had no friends except for Noam who was a constant companion. If he were to move away from the city then he'd really be the loner he was beginning to blame himself of becoming.

"Noam," he said as he wove his fingers through the thick coat of his dog. "I hope you're happy. I can't believe you'd betray me just like that. Don't come running to me when you find out all the friends you're going to meet are the raccoons eating through the house."

His pal let out a pathetic cry as he chuckled and started to throw random objects into the box located on the far corner of his living room. If he was going to suffer isolation then he might as well suffer with his only friend. They were going to be a pair of loners.

For some reason, he started wondering what it would be like to be a woman with twelve cats and an extensive writing career. He had to laugh at the thought. Perhaps the life of that woman would be more interesting than his after all.

oOo

He couldn't do anything but stare at the large living area he was supposed to live in. He thought that maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to move after all. He loved open spaces and his new home would most certainly offer him the luxury that his old, cramped apartment couldn't. The only flaw he'd seen so far was the way the place looked from a certain angle. To say it was creepy was being modest. Sure, it was one elegant structure in the middle of nowhere but there was that certain chill that went through him as he looked around.

He looked down at his pal to confirm his suspicions. Apparently, Noam had the same thoughts going through his head as they walked around. The wag to his tail was a bit forced and his ears kept perking up at the slightest sounds.

"Don't look at me. This was your idea," Quatre said, making a stop for an old door. He turned the knob and peeked in cautiously before turning the lights on and stepping in. "Wow! This is one beautiful room," he said before making a jump for the large four post bed in the middle of his newest claimed bedroom.

The look of relief on Quatre's face seemed to put his dog at ease as the four legged giant jumped into the bed and landed right on Quatre's exposed stomach. A loud yelp of surprise reverberated throughout the almost empty room.

"Noam!" Quatre reprimanded. "Don't do that. I'm going to end up throwing up what I had for lunch."

The large head of his dog drooped down before licking his face in apology. Quatre accepted it, laughing as his face was tickled mercilessly by the gigantic tongue.

It was a little after his laughing session that he noticed a strange doll located on top of the drawer in the corner of the room. Although it looked harmless, it looked as if it was mocking him. He thought then that his paranoia was beginning to get the better of him. So he had to deal with a creepy house. It wasn't a big surprise that he'd have to deal with the rest of the creepy items inside it as well.

He looked cautiously at the doll, came closer toward it before blowing the dust that was on its face. He sneezed and all of a sudden, the mouth of the doll dropped down the wooden drawer with a loud clatter. He was so terrified that he ran into the bed and under the covers only to discover that the sheets smelled like they'd been kept in an attic for the past decade. He pushed the sheets aside and hid instead behind his all purpose giant guardian.

Noam didn't look like he minded the doll's presence at all. Leaving Quatre to cower back in the bed, he moved up to the now disassembled doll and sniffed. Quatre merely watched in anticipation. He felt like he was waiting for something, but he didn't know what.

After a few moments of waiting, he chuckled to himself for his lack of courage and called Noam to join him to bring the rest of their belongings into their new home. He wasn't prepared for what happened next. Too suddenly, his buddy's face, fur and all faced him with his mouth opened.

"What's wrong? Scared of the little dummy?" came the deep voice from the dog's mouth.

Quatre screamed to the top of his lungs until he couldn't breathe anymore. When he did stop, he screamed again and looked in horror at his now talking pal who he noted, was not supposed to carry on an intelligent conversation with him. All thoughts of proving that he wasn't such a frail individual left his mind as he passed out in the middle of his four post bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Ventriloquist (Part Two)**

"Stupid in the middle of nowhere location," Quatre muttered as he tried to balance the bag of groceries and Noam's dog leash in one hand while using his other hand to fit his key into the door. His free home no longer was as appealing as it sounded. Apparently, his cheap manager didn't have the decency to find him a place closer than three miles to the closest convenience store.

"Noam, stay put," he said while his buddy continually paced around their front porch. "You've been uneasy all day. What's the matter with you?" he asked and then promptly shut up.

He remembered how he'd fallen asleep the night before or better yet, he remembered how he passed out, never to wake up until the next morning. The last thing he wanted was for Noam to start another conversation with him. If he fainted the first time he knew for sure that he would get a heart attack the second time around.

Finally able to fit the key into the slot, he turned the doorknob and headed for the kitchen, all the while pulling on Noam to follow him. He was still a bit scared of the house and albeit the shock of his talking dog, still preferred to be with said dog rather than be alone. He was getting a little used to the place and had in fact started cleaning the moment he woke up in the morning. Perhaps the fainting spell was to thank for his restful sleep.

"What should we have for dinner?" he asked before Noam jumped up to the table and began licking his face. It was a common gesture when his buddy felt like he was feeling a little down or a little agitated. It amazed Quatre just how much the creature had the ability to read him and clam him down.

"Thanks pal," he said after the licking session. He wiped his sloppy face and hugged his furry friend. "I guess I shouldn't be scared since you'll be keeping me company anyway."

Noam barked in approval and then began helping him with the groceries by pulling the items out of the bags with his teeth. Quatre couldn't help but laugh as he continued with the rest of them, thinking about what dish he should cook for dinner. He usually had something small, preferably something that he could stick into the microwave oven. This time, however, he had to use the gas range. It was a shame that his home didn't have a microwave. It was a bother but not an inconvenience he couldn't handle.

"Aha! I've got pre-cooked chicken breast pieces and some frozen vegetables. I'm sure I could make something out of it," he said and then began opening the boxes and bags. He may not have been a great cook but a least he could whip up something edible from frozen and pre-cooked products.

"I was thinking of giving you puppy chow for scaring me last night but you know I can't resist you so what'll it be for you?" he asked Noam without looking at him directly. "What's wrong? You're being awfully quiet."

He almost jumped a foot high when he heard his dog more than a few feet away from him, barking like he'd seen a cat. He didn't even notice that he'd left. He held a palm to his chest and then sighed before walking toward his dog to find out what was bothering him that much.

He was surprised to find Noam still barking and in front of his bedroom door. Thinking that someone may have broken in while they were away, he reached for the closest thing he could grab a hold of. Feeling nothing useful within the vicinity, he decided to leave it to Noam. Of course his built wasn't of much help in intimidating enemies but he had to make use of what he had at least. If he couldn't defend himself then his big bodyguard would fight off the intruder.

He opened the door faster than he intended and before he could even look in, Noam was already on the foot of his bed barking like crazy. Quatre followed the direction of Noam's adversary and found that there was indeed an intruder in his home. His first instinct was to make a run for it but for some reason, the situation seemed harmless.

There on his bed was a man lazily stretched out while reading a book or more specifically, his book - the book he wrote. He didn't know whether to shoo the man away or invite him for dinner. The man didn't look at all like he was a crook. He looked more like a refined gentleman - a refined gentleman who rudely went through his possessions.

"Umm, excuse me," he said, signaling for Noam to back down for the time being. "Can I help you?"

He felt stupid for being so polite. The man was intruding into his home after all. Why was he being so nice?

"I've been reading your novel," the man answered, his voice so deep and rich and at the same time so familiar it made his hair stand on end. "At first, I was assuming that this was written by a woman but after going through your items, I found out that you're both the author of this book and the intruder in my home."

Quatre stood silently with mouth agape. He didn't know whether he should haven been angry that he was again mistaken for a woman or outraged that he was being accused of intruding into his own home. Who did the man think he was?

"Excuse me mister but this place is mine," he said "I'm sure you've made a mistake because I've been given the title to the property. I believe it is I who should ask you to leave."

The man looked up at him and he was graced with the strangest and yet most compelling sight he'd ever seen. The man had half his face covered with a fall of brown hair and one visible eye that sparkled of a color so rare - a dark emerald that he'd never known was possible on a human eye.

"I knew that this was going to be a problem," the man said and looked calmly at him. "After all, you've already taken over most of my living area."

Quatre gulped. He didn't know why he was scared all of a sudden. It wasn't like he was going to be eaten alive. He looked at Noam for support but found his buddy between the two of them, staring at the man as if ready to make a move if he were to approach Quatre.

"Quatre is it?" the man said. "Don't look too surprised. I was reading your book after all. I assume an introduction is necessary as well. In case you haven't been informed, my name is Trowa, Trowa Barton. I am the owner of this property and have been for a long time now. I found your supposed title to the property and I'm afraid that it's void."

"A roommate then?" Quatre asked incredulously. He thought that he was going to be living alone. The last thing on his mind was living with someone who obviously had no respect for his privacy. He just hoped that the more embarrassing items he owned haven't been discovered yet.

"I don't take roommates. I take in boarders. I take it that you didn't mean to claim my bedroom as your own Mr. Winner so I will give you until tonight to take all your belongings out of my room."

Quatre couldn't speak and couldn't comprehend how his supposedly peaceful and quiet new living conditions turned upside down. He didn't even remember any mention of living with someone who looked pleasant enough and yet had the personality of a brick wall. He wondered again why he agreed to move in the first place.

He was coerced into doing so? Of course. How could he forget about that?

"Can't you be any nicer?" he finally spoke out. "I'd find comfort in knowing that if I have to live with someone, he can at least be more pleasant."

"You have a few hours left. Get moving," Trowa said before dropping the book carelessly on the bed and leaving the room.

Noam made an attempt to follow him but looked a little frightened with the encounter.

"So much for the big bed," Quatre muttered and started gathering his things for a quick move. "Care to help me Noam?"

oOo

It was around eleven at night when he was done moving all his things into his new room. He wondered why the owner's bedroom was bare to begin with. He almost had the impression that Trowa had such a dull personality that all he needed was a doll in the empty space. The man was especially rude too.

Hoping for a better start the next day, he began to take in the details of his newest sanctuary. The room he moved into, compared to the former, wasn't as large but it was good enough for him. After all, he spent most of his life in cramped apartments in the middle of bustling cities. All he needed was the open window, his trusty pen and his old notebook to write.

Lying boneless on the mattress, he reached for his still unplugged phone, hoping that he could call his manager. He decided that he was going to ask him about the specific catch the man forgot to mention and then get some dinner before the owner of the house decided that it was his kitchen and no one else's.

"Damn!" he said after looking through his bag for his phone book. "I forgot about the phone line. I'm going to have to get myself one of those portable phones if I want any human contact. Who knows if they even offer phone services to places like these?"

He was so distracted talking out loud that he didn't notice when his door opened and when Noam started another one of his barking sessions. He groaned at the loud ruckus and put a hand over his eyes.

"Noam, it's dark out already. I'm getting a really big headache from your incessant barking. Besides, you might wake up Mr. Cranky and he'll end up coming in here and acting all crabby again."

"I thought I mentioned earlier that my name was Trowa Barton. Should I assume that Mr. Cranky is your less than affectionate, juvenile name-calling identification for me?"

Quatre sat up immediately and looked at his door to find that he had a visitor. It was the same visitor he hoped wouldn't bother him for the rest of the day or for the rest of his stay in the house at least. He was planning to get out of there as fast as he could. He didn't know if he was going to be able to deal with the lack of privacy.

"Noam, it's ok," he started. "And can't you knock Mr. Barton. I think it's rude of you to just come barging in without my permission."

"Just like the way you took over my household while I was away?" Trowa asked.

"Can't you be any meaner than you already are?" Quatre countered. He wasn't going to give in just yet.

By that time, Noam had already stopped barking and had begun one of his threatening half-growls.

"I came to invite you for dinner Quatre," Trowa said all of a sudden.

Quatre found himself speechless and Noam was quiet as well. There was something different about the man. He didn't know whether he should have been scared or should have been grateful about the invitation. Wasn't he planning to invite Trowa for dinner earlier anyway?

"I noticed that the food products you purchased are nothing more than inedible excuses for a meal. The only food I look forward to eating frozen is ice cream."

Quatre merely watched him, refusing to answer.

"I'd be honored if you joined me for dinner and I would prefer it if you called me Trowa."

oOo

Trowa, was it? Quatre couldn't pinpoint the source of his unease. Was Trowa vicious half the time and extremely nice the other half of the time? Did he usually cook meals this scrumptious? Did he like watching his guests eat? Did he have to stare as if trying to bore a hole through him?

"Umm, Trowa, why aren't you eating?" Quatre asked. In truth, he wanted to ask what the other was staring at but he just couldn't get himself to do so. Then again, his voiced question was also legitimate.

Ever since he started chewing, he didn't notice Trowa consume anything. Even Noam was enjoying his meal. Why wouldn't he? Home cooked dog food was heaven compared to all the canned products Quatre served him over the years.

"How do you like the food?" Trowa asked, ignoring Quatre's question. "I like to cook for my boarders the first time. It sets the stage for an acquaintance, a momentary stalemate if you will."

"Hmm, the food's great but I don't think our previous fight wasn't even that bad," Quatre said, smiling at the change in the man's attitude. "This reminds me, I should apologize for the argument we had earlier. I just hate it when someone's being cruel so please forget what I said earlier."

Trowa laughed, his deep voice resounding throughout the almost empty house. Noam backed away suddenly and Quatre cringed at the seemingly wicked tone that came from his mouth.

"You have obviously shielded yourself from the realities of the world. Where have you been Quatre? Has your virtuousness and purity not been tarnished by your years?"

Quatre didn't know what to think, nor did he know how to respond. The man, Trowa, was one strange fellow and he talked as if he held the wisdom of the old and regarded him as if he were inexperienced and gullible. He didn't like it one bit. Was he being mocked without his knowledge? Was he being praised or condemned for his words? What was going on? What exactly was Trowa talking about? He was so confused.

"Mmm, this is delicious," he said with a nervous start. "What did you put it here?"

Of course, the only choice left for him then was to change the subject. What else could he have done? He looked at Trowa and found that the man was amused.

"Evading the subject does not make it vanish so simply. However, I do understand your unease with my presence right now so I shall retire for the night. Good night Quatre and I hope that your companion will keep you company with his quick-witted conversation skills."

Quatre's fork slipped from his fingers with a clatter. How Trowa knew about last night's incidents, he did not know. To add to the already strange encounter was the fact that Trowa gave him goose bumps. The man was creepy beyond belief.

Trying to calm himself down from the momentary fright, he reached for Noam's warm fur to seek comfort. It was then that he decided that he'd much rather have a talking dog than a bizarre housemate who had the ability make him run and dive under the covers in fear.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Ventriloquist (Part Three)**

Bacon and Eggs. Everybody cooked it for breakfast and despite not being good with kitchen appliances, not to mention antiquated ones, Quatre decide to make himself, his buddy and his landlord some breakfast. After all, he wanted to be in good terms with Trowa even if the man always made his hair stand on end.

He sang a discordant tune and danced to the beat as he flipped another ruined egg in the pan. In fact, he was so engrossed with his morning activity that he didn't notice Noam shaking his head, probably in utter shame. Quatre was in his boxers and white shirt, dancing like a fool and singing like one too. It was obvious that he'd just gotten up from bed and was now attempting to cook something edible.

"Awoooo!"

Quatre stopped turning a piece of bacon midway to look in question at his buddy. Noam was acting strange nowadays and now that he thought about it, there was no reason for him to howl so loud. Perhaps he was embarrassed?

"What's wrong buddy? Did you see a ghost?" he asked.

Noam's response was to howl louder and put his paws over his eyes. He was definitely embarrassed.

"Oh come on," Quatre said. "You don't have to be such a drama queen about it. It isn't like you've never seen me in my boxers before."

Noam shook his head, still in shame.

"Ha ha!" he said with sarcasm and took plates out of the ancient cupboard. "If you keep on doing that, you won't have any of this yummy stuff I've made."

Noam immediately quieted down.

"Now that's a good boy," Quatre said with a smirk. "I knew you'd listen to reason."

He turned the gas range off and divided the food into three portions. Noam's meal was placed in his bowl. He placed two readied plates in a tray and put Noam's dog dish in there as well. He wasn't going to leave his buddy to eat alone in the kitchen. After all, Noam always had meals on the table with him. It disgusted some of his previous guests to the point of vomit but he wasn't about to change his practices.

"Let's go Noam," Quatre called and Noam followed him to the large room that Quatre had once claimed to be his own. He knocked twice before opening the door with one hand and peering in. Trowa was already up, reclined halfway on his bed and was still reading his book. Maybe Trowa liked his writing. It was certainly an honor that he was reading it.

"I made breakfast," he started when he noticed that Trowa wasn't going to make any attempt to pay attention to him. "I'm sure you're too engrossed in that book so I'm letting myself and Noam in."

He stepped in with the tray and set it on the table close to Trowa's bed. When all was ready, he sat at the foot of the bed, not willing to disturb Trowa just yet. He was in a jumpy mood that morning and he didn't know why. Noam took the hint and jumped to make himself comfortable in the bed as well. They both looked attentively at Trowa as he continued reading.

"Why are you two watching me?" Trowa finally asked after a few minutes of being watched.

"Our breakfast is getting cold," Quatre answered.

"Who said I wanted breakfast?" Trowa said.

"Why are you wearing the same clothes and why's your room so dusty?" Quatre asked, ignoring Trowa's question.

"Why aren't you answering my question?" Trowa asked and then put the book down. He looked at Quatre and then at Noam.

"Why are you always so grumpy?" Quatre continued asking, again ignoring the question.

Trowa's fingers immediately went for the bridge of his nose. It looked as if he was having a headache.

"Oooh, I forgot to ask you last night why you kept that creepy doll with you," Quatre said, slightly wriggling about in the bed. "Do you collect them?"

Before Quatre could ask his next question, a voice spoke out of his buddy's mouth.

"You should shut up now if you know what's good for you," Noam said.

Quatre was, for the first time that morning, speechless. He felt queasy and a little lightheaded, just like the way he did when he first moved in. He still couldn't tell if he was going crazy or if Noam really was talking to him.

"What's wrong Quatre? Are you going to pass out again?" Noam continued.

That did it. If he was going to pass out in front of his landlord then he might as well do it. Maybe when he woke up again, he wouldn't have to deal with his talking buddy. Some things were just too strange to comprehend and right now, he didn't have the brain capacity to process the situation. His eyelids began to close and he felt himself leaning down before he was slapped hard on his cheek.

"Ouch!" he screamed and rubbed his cheek. "What did you have to do that for?" he said and then looked at Trowa's blank face with anger.

"I was trying to keep you from passing out," Trowa answered.

He noticed Noam licking his hand and then realized just why he was passing out in the first place. He took deep breaths and then looked at his buddy. So, it's finally happened. He was mentally unstable. His father did suggest it before but he didn't believe it one bit. He wondered if Trowa would think him odd.

"Noam was..."

He didn't want to continue with his confession. After all, he didn't want to be kicked out of the house. He'd already given up his apartment in the city.

"Noam was talking," Trowa simply stated, shocking Quatre more than anything.

"You," Quatre started, unable to form anything coherent. That was when Trowa stuck a piece on bacon into his mouth.

"I'm a ventriloquist," he said. "Most people would have figured that out by now. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

Trowa picked up the book and continued to read. Quatre looked at Noam to find him digging into his breakfast already. He didn't know what to make of it. Why was he the only one finding the situation strange?

He slapped himself once and then twice and then decided that he was still in a jumpy mood. He grabbed his plate and his fork and began eating his breakfast. He was surprised to find that he could make good bacon after all. Maybe he just wasn't good with big meals. Frying was a whole different deal.

"It's good," Quatre said and looked at the completely engrossed Trowa. "Why don't you try it?"

"I'm not hungry," Trowa said, turning a page of the book.

"So," Quatre started again. "Is that why you keep that creepy doll? It looks like it hasn't been touched for ages. Now that I think about it, your room looks like it's been abandoned for years. Don't you clean out the cobwebs? It's dusty in here too."

Trowa put the book down once again.

"Usually, my tenants don't associate with me," Trowa said as a hint.

"Really? They must be really rude!" Quatre exclaimed, not getting the hint at all.

Noam just shook his head in disbelief. If his eyes could have, he would have probably rolled them.

"Uh, not to be rude or anything but did you notice that you're really pale? I think you need a little sunshine."

Noam just ducked his head in shame. Quatre certainly didn't know when to stop.

Trowa put the book down for the second time that morning. He didn't look irritated or angry but he didn't look like he was enjoying the conversation either.

"I shall assume that you merely wanted to know more about me so I will not take this against you," Trowa said and Noam tried to pull Quatre away. Unlike him, Noam knew how to sense danger. The look Trowa was giving him was intimidating enough to kill an already dead plant.

Instead of running away like he was supposed to, Quatre blew on Trowa's face. Noam put his paws over his already covered eyes in shame. Trowa was left speechless.

"Wow! It worked! So it really took the grump out of you," Quatre said. "Hmm, some of the critiques said my writing can't be applied to real life but I guess that proved them wrong."

Trowa continued to stare at him but this time, he stared in question.

"Turn to page 134. It should be the second line," Quatre said. "You'll see what I mean."

Trowa did as he was told and looked at Quatre after he read the line.

"Go ahead and read it out loud," Quatre urged.

"He was the epitome of vindictive disdain. His face was blank and yet his eyes conveyed his dissatisfaction. It gave the clue away more clearly than any insidious action could have. Her response was to look at him, look at him as tenderly as she would a newborn infant or a hopeless love object. She didn't make any move to kiss him but instead blew gently on his face."

"See," Quatre said and then crossed his arms. "But I must say that it's a whole different situation we're in right now. At least you're not crabby anymore."

"Blew gently on his face?" Trowa asked, forgetting all about his earlier impatience.

"What, you think it's strange?" Quatre said as he lifted a piece of bacon to his mouth to chew on.

"What kind of a romantic climax was that?"

"It's a plot on the verge of a climax, canceled by the anti-climactic action that turned instead into the pinnacle of her strange yet undeniable passion for him. What do you think?"

Trowa looked at him and then picked up the book to begin reading where he left off. "I didn't understand a word you said," he simply said.

"You don't need to," Quatre said and then picked up some eggs with his fork. "So, aren't you going to tell me about yourself?"

"There's nothing you need to know," Trowa answered, beginning to ignore him once again.

"Where do you work?" Quatre asked out of the blue.

Trowa turned a page and then answered. "I don't work. I get my income from tenants like you."

"Oh, so is this house an inheritance?"

"No, I bought it many years ago."

"What did you do before that? I'm pretty sure you had a job before that."

"I worked in the circus. I was a clown."

Quatre's response was to laugh. He couldn't believe what the man was saying. Of all the different things Trowa could have been, clown was not the first occupation on the list.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said. "You must have scared half the kids."

Trowa stared at him.

"Oh come on, don't tell me you're serious."

"I did a majority of the clown acts and also a little of the ventriloquist acts during my stay at the circus. I dealt mostly with the animals, particularly with the lions."

"Oh," Quatre said. "So you were serious."

Before Quatre could continue the conversation, he heard a loud crash coming from the front of the house. Knowing that they could talk again later, he hurried out the room and into the front porch. Noam was following close behind him. When he looked outside, he found that the culprit had already retreated into the trees surrounding the area. Noam made a run toward the stranger but was too late to catch up. He barked out loud instead. Quatre didn't know what to do but thought that it was best to consult Trowa. He was the owner of the house after all.

He ran back to the room in hopes of warning Trowa of the danger but he was surprised when he found the room empty. It was as if Trowa disappeared within the few seconds it took him to run out and run back. There was something unsettling about it, but he decided to let it go for the meantime. Trowa may have just needed to attend to something important.

He didn't know what it was about the incident that made him frightened once again. Instead of starting what he had to do that day, he ran into his room and hid under the covers. He did realize that he was doing it more often. There was that certain sense of fear that bothered him ever since he moved to his new home. He realized that he'd just have to deal with it somehow.

A few second later, he heard his door creak open and when he peeked from under his covers to check, he found Noam coming toward him. He reached his hand out to pet his buddy and was relieved when Noam licked his hand.

"Don't be afraid," the dog said all of a sudden.

The voice was familiar, smooth and comforting at the same time. Quatre smiled. Some things were just too odd to be climactic and yet beautiful enough to be even if they did come from a dog's mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Ventriloquist (Part Four)**

The fresh, unpolluted air was a little too dull for Quatre. After living in the city for so long, it had become almost unbearable to stand any bit of silence, especially when the silence was chilling him to the bone. Noam felt it too and had since been barking, probably to get rid of the silence. This, of course, disturbed their petulant tenant who kicked them out of the house for the rest of the morning.

There was Quatre, outside with a notebook, a pencil, and his buddy beside him. It was quite chilly outside considering that he was wearing only a shirt and his pajama bottoms. Trowa could at least have been kind enough to drop a sweater. But then again, taking into account the fact that he'd been moody for quite a while now, it didn't look like it was going to happen. Quatre opted not to complain.

"Noam, you do know you've caused this, don't you?"

His buddy's response was to get down and put his paws over his already fur-covered eyes.

"It's not like I'm going to hurt you," Quatre said, smiling at his dog's antics. There was just no way to stay angry at him. "I guess we'll just have to make do with what's out here."

He spotted an old and dusty picnic area to the side of the house and checked if it was acceptable enough. Noam, on the other hand, was pushing him towards it, urging him to sit down. His buddy knew very well of his anxiety about unclean areas.

"Fine, you can stop pushing me now. I'm sitting but if I fall off this thing and break my back, it's going to be your fault."

Before finally sitting down, Quatre tore a blank page off his notebook and dusted off the impossibly dirty seat and table. It didn't do any good but he still did need a comfortable place to work. Some places were bad but this one was acceptable at least.

Not long after he sat down and opened his notebook, Noam ran off and brought back a tree branch.

"Aw, Noam. You know I have to get back to work. Can we play fetch later?"

His dog made a pathetic sound akin to a human cry. Quatre rolled his eyes. How could he have not given in? He was busy but nevertheless threw the stick toward the far corner. Maybe if he threw it far enough, it would take Noam longer to return. Quatre repeated their game a few times while trying to write his next novel. Hundreds of different thoughts came to mind but not one sparked any interest in him. All the ideas that came to mind were ones that had already been done before. Not far behind were thoughts that people said he'd been too soft in his last novel. The last thing he wanted was for his readers to mistaken him for a girl again. Once was embarrassing enough already.

His mind began to wander into different things and Quatre began to think about how his manager was doing. The man was obviously still unaware of his current condition, considering the fact that Quatre had yet to leave the creepy old house to find a working phone. Why didn't they have any phone lines around there anyway? Houses in the middle of nowhere did have phones, right?

"Awooo!"

Quatre felt his hand being slobbered all over and then looked down just in time to see Noam's drool all over his hand and the notebook.

"Augh! Noam, you didn't have to do that!"

Quatre guessed it was a good thing he didn't have a laptop. How could he possibly have explained to the store that the dog drooled on his laptop?

"Alright, we'll continue to play fetch as long as you help me get some ideas going."

Quatre tore off the wet page and picked up his pencil again. It was time to brainstorm. Of course, the only one at the moment who could tell him if it was ok or not was a certain fuzzy animal who was getting bored just watching him. He wished that Trowa wasn't too moody so he could at least be able to get his opinions. The mysterious man was a bit eccentric but he was still quite intelligent. What was the man's problem anyway?

"It doesn't look like I'm going to get much done in this place after all," he said as he ran his fingers through Noam's thick coat.

"And that's the reason why you should leave at once."

"Ah!"

Quatre fell off his seat and foolishly tried to get up several times before falling again and again. Why was it that voices just came out of nowhere? The voice didn't even sound like Trowa's and he was certain that it wasn't coming from Noam. It sounded like an old lady.

Quatre wanted to run under the covers again if only the locked door wasn't stopping him.

"Such a frail lad," the voice said again. "Here, let me help you up."

Quatre screamed even louder when he saw an old, wrinkled hand reached down to help him. He didn't know there were ghouls and goblins roaming around the house.

"Oh, hush now. You're starting to sound like a little girl."

Now that made Quatre shut up quickly. There was nothing like those types of statements that reminded him of how he was supposed to act. Raising himself with his arm, he looked over the fallen seat to find an old woman who was still holding her hand out. Strange, where were these people coming from?

"Uh, thanks."

It was only then that Quatre noticed Noam watching his embarrassing display. His buddy was silent. Oh, he could almost see his father now, reprimanding him for being scared of a little old lady. Ah well, he guessed he was coming one step closer to proving his father right.

"It's alright. I could get up," he said, opting to make sure that he didn't bring the old lady down with him in the process. It was embarrassing enough already.

"Really, lad, you shouldn't be so tense. I had no bad intentions. I'm truly sorry for the rude interruption. I didn't think I'd scare you that much."

"Umm, that's ok."

"You're the new tenant, aren't you?"

"Uh, yeah. I just moved in last week," Quatre answered while dusting off the twigs that were stuck on his clothes.

"Last week, you say. How do you like it so far, uh...?"

"It's Quatre. My name's Quatre and this here's my buddy Noam. I can't say that I've been enjoying my stay very much but things have been going fine."

The old lady looked at Noam, who was unexpectedly quiet.

"He must be guarding you," the old lady said as she stared at Noam.

"I guess you could say that," Quatre said, scratching his head. What did she mean by that? She seemed like a nice old lady but there was something about her, and not to mention the whole town, that made him uneasy.

"How long are you planning to stay?"

Well, that was forward. Did they want to kick him out of town already? Was he rude when he passed by their market the other day? He did notice that they were looking at him strangely when he asked for a carton of milk. How was he to know that they put their milk in bottles, freshly milked from the cow next door? He'd never even seen a real, live cow before. He just had to pet it.

"I'm not sure. I think my manager made a huge mistake so I might be staying only until I finish my next novel."

"How long will it take you?"

Quatre had to pause. They really wanted him out but it was such a rude way of putting it.

"I'm not sure."

"Then all I'm saying is that you should take care of yourself and make sure this creature is always around. He will take care of you."

Quatre smiled. So, the town's people could be somewhat companionable. He thought she was about to tell him to leave straight out. Maybe she was just looking out for him. But what was the meaning of all the caution? He always had Noam next to him. He didn't have to worry about a thing.

"Thank you. He is quite the scalawag but he's really great to be around."

The old lady nodded and looked at him warily before facing back to walk away.

"Uh, could I get your name, ma'am?" Quatre asked. There was no telling when he'd come across her again and it was good to have a few new acquaintances in town.

"Catherine."

"Thanks Catherine," Quatre said and then waved. "Maybe I'll see you in one of the stores when I go grocery shopping."

Catherine didn't look back and seemed to be shaking her head. He was being too friendly, was that it?

Quatre sighed and then noticed that although Noam was still quiet, he was now looking at the house, at the second floor window that was facing them. He almost yelped in surprise to see Trowa looking down with the same blank face. He looked a little terrifying, as if watching the events unfolding below him. He could have at least left his position from the window. It made him seem creepier than he already was.

Quatre waved up to him but Trowa didn't seem to accept the friendly gesture. Instead, Quatre noted, frowning, that Trowa was now looking directly at him. His face was as animated as a stone wall but his eyes had so much intensity in them that he thought he was going to wet his pants from being stared down.

Quatre wondered just what he did wrong this time. Was he not supposed to associate with the town's people or was the old lady Catherine some evil entity? Did Noam even know what was going on?

Almost as if answering, Noam howled and Quatre had to look down at him to see what the problem was. He scratched behind his buddy's ear to clam him down. Come to think of it, he needed a little calming down too. Maybe he could call Trowa down to keep him company.

The problem was, when Quatre looked back up the window, Trowa was no longer there. He thought it odd that Trowa would leave so soon but shrugged instead. Maybe Trowa did give him an idea after all. Quatre decided that his next book was going to have an eerie feel to it, something like a ghost story or a mystery. Why, he could probably even use Trowa as the antagonist. He looked evil enough anyway what with the expressionless face and long hair covering half his face. He was perfect for the part.

Now content that he had something in mind, Quatre picked up the seat and sat back down, ready to begin writing. This time, Noam was surprisingly complacent sitting next to him. His buddy was probably tired from barking and howling all day. It was about time too. He had almost gone deaf from having to listen to the ruckus all morning. Trowa did have a point when he kicked them out.

"Hmm, what setting would be good," he thought out loud. "What about this place? Is this place good Noam?"

Noam put his head down, looking disinterested.

"I didn't know you were that tired," Quatre said. "Either that or you're getting cold. I know I'm getting cold. Maybe Trowa will let us in the house since you've stopped being so loud."

Noam was still silent.

"You know, you don't have to be so angry at him for kicking us out. You were really loud after all.

Besides, Trowa was trying to finish reading my book. Maybe I could even get a critique from him."

Quatre closed his notebook and then picked up his pencil before signaling for Noam to follow him. He knocked on the front door of the house, hoping that this time; Trowa would open the door and let them in.

It was getting very cold and he had no intention of getting sick.

When he didn't hear anyone coming to open the door, he turned the door knob and was surprised to find that the door was open. What was even more surprising was that Trowa was quietly reading and that there was a cup of warm liquid and a blanket ready by the already burning fireplace.

"Drink your hot chocolate and get the blanket over you," Trowa said without looking at him. "Please accept this offering as my apology for forcing you to leave and face the cold elements outside."

Quatre was surprised that Trowa was being really nice. It was very rare and he didn't want to turn down the offering. Closing the door behind him, he sat down in front of the fireplace and made sure that Noam was next to him before putting the blanket over the both of them. He then picked up the warm mug and then sipped.

"Wow, this hot chocolate is so good," Quatre said. "Did the milk come directly from the cow?"

Trowa looked up from his reading and stared at him.

"What, did I just say something weird? Hey, cows seem to be running rampant around here anyway and I'm sure you have some kind of chocolate tree outside."

Trowa continued staring before saying what was on his mind.

"There is no such thing as a chocolate tree," he said. "Now drink the rest of it before it gets cold."

Quatre shrugged. At least it was sweet of him to do that. It didn't matter much anymore that he was being rude and creepy half the time. He was awfully thoughtful and sweet the other half of the time anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Ventriloquist (Part Five)**

It was raining and considering that the town had no paved roads, Quatre had no choice but to walk through the mud. Noam was enjoying it though. The horror... he could see it now, himself trying to bathe the humongous creature. It was almost laughable. Sometimes it became painfully obvious that his buddy was twice his size. He cursed himself for not consuming more nutritious food as he grew up so he could at least be a little bulkier.

"Noam, I'd appreciate it if you stopped rolling around in that filth," he pleaded as he watched him bark in satisfaction. "I'm sure Trowa won't let you in the house until you're clean and that means I'm going to have to scrub you down until you're spotless. You're not making it any easier for me, you know."

Noam didn't stop playing in the mud and Quatre almost cried. Why did it have to happen? Why was he being punished so? All he wanted to do was leave the house for a couple of hours and tread his way through the forest-like area to get into the main town. He just needed to find a working phone and finally contact his manager. He really didn't want to live in the place any longer. It was as inconvenient as it was creepy.

"Noam, stop it. C'mon buddy. Please!"

His rubber boots were muddy, his plastic hat and raincoat weren't very much help, and his umbrella flipped over just as he stepped out of the front door. All in all, he looked like a lost child in the middle of the muddy path with his dog enjoying a little dip. He was wet and miserable.

"I hate this place!" he screamed, knowing for sure that the main part of town was still a little further away. Maybe he should have listened to Trowa when the man suggested that he leave when the rain had stopped.

"I can hear you whine a mile away."

"Ah!" Quatre yelled in fright as he fell backwards into the same pile of mud Noam was currently enjoying.

He looked up to find Trowa in an elegant, black raincoat with matching leather gloves. He was holding an umbrella in one hand and a spare on the other. How he managed to look composed and stylish in the middle of a pigsty, Quatre did not know. His rubber boots didn't even look like rubber. They looked like leather.

"You could have at least warned me you were around," Quatre huffed, irritated that Trowa always managed to sneak up on him. Just what was he doing there anyway? His landlord had mentioned earlier that he disliked the rain.

"I brought you an umbrella," Trowa simply answered and Quatre's response was to stare at the umbrella and then at him.

"Uh, that was nice of you," Quatre said, starting to find that his position half-buried in the mud wasn't so bad after all. In fact, he was pleased with Trowa's sudden appearance. Things didn't look so bad even if Noam was starting to lick his face. His cheeks were already covered in mud.

"I expect the two of you clean before you enter my house. Good luck on your journey," Trowa said and then pierced the pointed end of the umbrella on the soft ground before facing back and leaving.

"Augh!" Quatre said as he watched him leave. "I take it back. He's not nice at all. The least he could have done was help me up before leaving. I don't care if he was wearing fancy clothes."

To his surprise, Noam stopped rolling around and had taken to pushing his back with his nose. At least there was someone nice enough to help him stand despite the fact that the said helper was the same one who caused the trouble in the first place.

Quatre reached for the end of the umbrella and used it as a support to lift him. Noam was not far behind, guiding him as he slipped on the mud a few times. Several attempts later, he was up and ready to move forward. There was no sense in going back home now. He might as well go into town and find a working phone.

"And there better be a good explanation," Quatre muttered although he knew for sure that he didn't have the guts to yell at his manager no matter how angry he was. It just wasn't in his nature.

A couple of accidents later, Quatre made it successfully to the main part of town. For some reason, everything looked different from the time he bought groceries. It must have been the cloudy skies that made the whole place look gray and empty.

"I should've looked for the phone the last time I was here, huh Noam?"

His buddy nodded, understanding the concept of not wasting trips. Civilization, or what little of it there was around there was such a luxury considering that he had to take a long hike all the way there. He hoped the people around town weren't crabby from the rain. He already had to deal with Trowa's grumpy attitude while in the house. He could at least use a couple of friendly faces.

"Are you lost son?"

Speaking of friendly faces... Quatre looked behind him to find an old man calling his attention. Was everybody old around there?

"Uh, actually, I just got into town and I'm trying to find a phone."

"Phone, eh? You must be new around here?"

"Uh, yeah."

Quatre had to wonder - did they not use phones? It was a bad sign, almost as if they wouldn't have any of those available. How would he be able to communicate with the outside world?

"You looked scared, boy. We do have a phone around here. It's just that nobody bothers to call anyone."

Quatre nodded and then sighed in relief. It was best to stay quiet. It seemed that people around there knew how to read his mind anyway.

"A big, shaggy dog huh?" the old man asked, pointing at Noam who had kept quiet ever since.

Quatre nodded again.

"That dog's going to need a bath. I'm sure old Catherine has a place you two could clean up in. Here, let me show you the way."

Catherine? The creepy old lady who warned him the other day? Did he really have to meet her again? He liked her but she didn't seem to like him too much.

"What's the matter, don't you trust me, boy?"

Quatre nodded again and then tugged on Noam's leash, following the man as the rain continued to pour. The old man led them into one of the structures on the corner of town. It was quiet around there, now that he took the chance to notice it. The last time he was there, the place was bursting with what few people were there. It must have been the rain. A lot of people seemed to dislike the rain.

"Will she mind if we come in?" Quatre asked. "We're filthy."

The old man shook his head and held the door open to indicate that they could come in.

"Catherine doesn't mind. It isn't everyday that we get to help out strangers like yourself."

"Thank you," Quatre gratefully said, smiling for the first time that day. So, they did have nice people after all.

Quatre walked in as carefully as he could to avoid soiling the old lady's house. He even managed to hold Noam down to stop him from shaking the excess muddy water off his thick coat. He did have manners after all.

"Here, you could take those muddy clothes in the back," a voice said before the same old lady from the other day made her appearance with dry towels and a large bowl of soap and scrubbers in hand. "We should also clean him up in the back," she added.

Quatre nodded and followed her. When they reached the back, he was pleased to find that although the 'back' was an old shack; he could at least take off his wet covering and bathe Noam. He took off his coat, his hat, and his boots and then gratefully accepted the dry towel. At least the clothes he had underneath were still dry and mud-free. Noam was a different story.

"I should be able to clean up this creature in no time."

"What? No! You don't have to clean him up. I'll do it," Quatre immediately said as the old lady was starting to lead Noam to the wooden drinking hole in the corner of the old room. He could barely handle Noam. How could she possibly bathe him? He was fussy while being scrubbed.

"The least I could do is help you," she suggested. "You don't even look like you could handle such a big creature."

Well, it was partly true. His father always did manage to compare how much more muscular and healthy Noam was to him. He couldn't help it if he was skinny.

"I guess," Quatre answered.

When they finished settling Noam down and washing his muddy coat, the old lady handed him a brush and indicated the liquid soap she had ready.

"You should be able to get back to your place clean and dry," she said. "The rain will be stopping soon."

Quatre nodded. His eyes strayed around the room as he scrubbed Noam's enormous back. The place was a little strange. He noticed old, faded posters stuck on the wall. They were colorful and seemed to be once the vibrant depictions of some wonderful event. There were illustrations of elephants, lions, flames... and a bearded lady.

"Uh, are those circus posters," he decided to ask.

"They once were," the old lady answered as she continued scrubbing her part of Noam's body. She didn't look at him but instead continued diligently in her work.

"That's funny. I remember Trowa mention that he used to work in a circus."

The old lady continued her work but Quatre didn't mind the lack of a response. She might have preferred not to talk about it.

As he always did, Quatre continued on with the inquiries. But this time, he changed the topic.

"So," he started. "I take it no one around here likes the rain."

"Many tragedies befall this town and almost all of these tragedies happen on rainy days."

Quatre's eyes went wide. He didn't like the sound of that and neither did Noam. His buddy chose to howl a loud one but nevertheless obediently stayed still.

"Tragedies, as in deaths?"

"Death is only one of those tragedies. There are countless kinds of tragedies that transpire here frequently. I'm sure you find us unfriendly. Please excuse our behavior. We are simply wary of unfortunate strangers."

Quatre smiled. Oh, so that was it. They should have told him earlier. He was a very understanding guy. He didn't mind their wariness at all.

"That's alright," Quatre responded with a cheery voice. "At least there are people like you who help me out. I think that's enough to be grateful for."

The old lady looked up at him, the serious look on her face still the same. She tilted her head on the side and then observed him.

"You are one of the most pleasant young men who have come to town recently," she said. "You remind me of someone and I like you already."

"Thanks!" Quatre answered and then picked up a water-filled bucket to wash the soap off Noam. When he was clean, the old lady helped him wipe him down but Noam decided to shake himself dry instead.

"I hear you were looking for a phone," the old lady started when the two of them looked clean and ready. "You're in luck. I have the only available telephone in town. You could find it at the corner when you make a left out this door. Your hot drinks should be ready by the time you finish your call."

Quatre couldn't believe it. She was so kind, just like Trowa on good days. He followed the directions with Noam following closely behind him.

When he made it to the corner of the room, he came face of face with an antiquated phone. He feared it wouldn't even work. Crossing his fingers, he lifted the receiver to find that it did work. Things were certainly starting to look up for him.

Finally, he was going to be able to ask his manager about the apparent mix-up.

"Hello?" was the answer from the other line. At least Quatre knew he dialed the right number.

"You sent me to the wrong place," Quatre said automatically.

"Quatre, is that you? ...and what do you mean wrong place?"

"You said I was the new owner of the house but someone else already owns it so now I'm just a boarder."

"And boarding doesn't suit you?"

"What? No. I don't mind. It's just that it's so hard around here. I'm a couple of miles away from the closest store. I need a little more civilization, you know. Besides, it's too quiet and creepy around here. I almost can't get any writing done."

"Ok, ok. I hear you Quatre but you'll have to hold up for a little longer. I'm on vacation right now. I won't be back for another two weeks."

"Two weeks? I'll be dead by the time you find me a different arrangement."

Quatre was getting angry. He wouldn't be able to hold out for another week even if he wanted to. He was just too darn uncomfortable around that town. Forget the nice people. He wanted to get out of there soon.

"Look, there's nothing I can do right now. Heck, even my secretary's taken a vacation."

"Where are you?" Quatre decided to ask. He knew it was going to make him angry but he had to know anyway.

"Tahiti."

That was it. Quatre hung up the phone without saying his usual polite goodbye. Why did his manager get to lounge in sunny Tahiti while he suffered in the rain? It just wasn't fair!

"Things aren't working out well for you?"

Quatre turned his head to find Catherine with a mug of something hot on the tray. From the look of worry on her face, Quatre deduced that she heard his whining session. All of a sudden, he felt more embarrassed than angry.

"Uh, not really," he answered meekly. "I'm sorry for being too loud."

"Don't you worry about it," she answered. "If you've handled our place this long, I'm almost certain you'll be fine for another few weeks. I'll make sure you are well and I know this creature will always keep you company."

Noam barked in agreement.

Well, at least there were people willing to help him work out his current situation. Now, if only Trowa were a lot less irritable...


	6. Chapter 6

**The Ventriloquist (Part Six)**

It was the third day since he'd left the house, Quatre noted. He was bored and so was Noam as his constant companion made a noise almost akin to a whine. It was a few mornings ago when he decided that the rain that had passed was not going to come down again and that he needed to breathe in fresh air. That was when he noticed that the front door was locked, from the inside or outside he couldn't tell. It was impossible that it would have been locked from the outside but it seemed to be the case. He had initially thought of consulting his landlord about it but had found the man's room empty.

"Where could he be?" Quatre asked Noam even when the dog ignored him. True, it had been horrifying to find out that he'd been locked inside the house but somehow, three days later, it didn't feel as bad. In fact, it was only the boredom that bothered him. That and the fact that he had yet to see Trowa in the past few days he'd been home.

Noam made another pathetic cry before Quatre put down the pen and notebook he had in hand. He was sympathetic of both their conditions as he approached the large beast.

"You think Trowa just doesn't want to let us out?" he asked.

Noam's response was to raise his head and then look away. Quatre felt hurt by the action and then sulked, choosing to position himself by the closest window. His room had been much too small, forcing him to spend more time in the living room where he'd hoped to at least talk to Trowa. However, all he was left with was a window with not much of a view and a best friend who didn't look eager to listen to his whining.

Quatre sighed and blew air up into the bangs that were covering his forehead. Sometimes, there were things that became more amusing to do when he had nothing better to do. A few puffs of air later and he found himself highly amused.

Only a hurried knock on the window broke the rhythm Quatre created with his hair blowing task.

"Huh," he said, looking out the dirty glass to find his newest acquaintance on the other side. Old lady Catherine had her hands up, waving at him. Quatre jumped suddenly and waved back enthusiastically in response.

"I haven't seen you around much," the old lady said, her voice slightly muffled because of the glass barrier between them.

"Oh, I can't open the door," Quatre answered thoughtfully. "Besides, I can't open the windows either." He assumed it was because of the old material rusting so that the window was firmly shut. He didn't want to admit that it was partly because he did not have enough manly strength to pull it up.

"Really?" the old lady asked him. Her head was tilted to the side to examine the contraption before them. "You haven't been out in days haven't you?" she said, her fingers moving across the window's frame.

"No. I've been stuck here for three days," he answered, letting his sadness show through a slight pout and a misting of his eyes. Really, there must have been someone out there who could save him from boredom. The pathetic look did sometimes work with his manager, but he doubted that the little old lady at the other end of the glass barrier was strong enough to lift the window even if she felt sorry for him.

"Has your landlord been around?" she inquired.

"No."

At his response, the old lady frowned and knotted her brows. She looked like she was evaluating the situation.

"Is Noam with you?"

"Yes."

"Good," the old lady exclaimed and then smiled at him as if there was nothing wrong all of a sudden. Her previous grave expression had gone as quickly as it had appeared. "Make sure he's always near you," she added, before waving a goodbye and taking her leave.

"Wait!" Quatre managed to shout before she had left his sights completely. "I'm bored. Won't you stay for a little while to talk?"

"I'm sorry Quatre," she answered. "But I have important things to attend to. I just wanted to make sure that you were alright. Take care of yourself!"

Quatre nodded and waved goodbye sorrowfully. At least he had an excuse to start working on his novel. It was extremely quiet with no one to bother him. Even Noam had taken to ignoring him. He supposed it was best if he continued working.

He picked up his pen and opened his notebook to the where he'd left off before he dropped both items to the floor. He yelped, surprised that Noam was active all of a sudden. His buddy was barking like mad which caused him to look up and find to source of his friend's unease. He was surprised when he came face to face with Trowa.

"Ah!" he screamed in surprise and leaned backwards into the wall. Trowa had apparently decided to help him pick up his fallen materials because the man's face was so close to his that it made him jump. The pale face, always a visage of masculine beauty was as expressionless as ever.

"Trowa?" he started, not knowing where the man had come from. "I haven't seen you in days!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around his landlord's neck in glee. It was about time someone came to rescue him from complete boredom.

To his surprise, Trowa's response was to extract his arms from his shoulders, pick up the pen and notebook and stand up. He held the materials at arm's length before Quatre, not once acknowledging the jovial welcome.

"Thanks," Quatre said sheepishly. He felt embarrassed about loosing control the way he did a few moments ago. Trowa must have hated such displays, Quatre presumed and that was why he was as cold as ever. "Umm, where have you been?" he asked to break the awkward silence.

Within that amount of time, Noam had stopped barking and had situated himself beside Quatre. If he didn't know any better, he thought that Noam was giving Trowa the evil eye.

"Not anywhere that concerns you," Trowa answered, taking a step back before positioning himself on a dusty sofa and retrieving a book from inside his pockets. Quatre noticed that Trowa still had not finished reading his novel.

"Uh, do you mind if I asked you a question?" Quatre said slowly, making sure that his presence would not offend his housemate.

"Very well," Trowa answered, sitting stiffly on the sofa, his back so straight Quatre thought it was physically impossible.

"Why are all the doors locked?" he asked and then positioned himself across from Trowa. Let it not be said that he was scared of Trowa just because he looked intimidating.

"Locked? I don't know what you mean," Trowa said indifferently, looking down at his book to read a few passages.

"It is. I haven't been out for days," Quatre said, sounding suspiciously like he didn't believe a word Trowa said. "I've been trying all this time. In fact, I haven't seen you around much lately."

When Trowa did not answer, Quatre sighed and then looked at his buddy for help. When he looked down at Noam, he noticed that his buddy was making a futile attempt to turn the doorknob. Without fingers, Noam was demonstrating how hard it was to accomplish such a simple task.

Quatre chuckled and then left his landlord's presence for the time being. He raised himself from his seat and then proceeded to demonstrate to Noam just how to turn a knob. When he did turn it, he was surprised to find that it opened easily. The fresh air from outside breezed in as the door swished open. Quatre stared at the outside bug-eyed, trying to comprehend just how he had so easily opened the door now when he'd been trying his hardest to do so for the past few days. He guessed Trowa was right after all.

He turned his head to address Trowa when he noticed that the other man was no longer there and neither was his book. Quatre sighed again. One day Trowa was going to have to explain to him how he did that. It was as if the man could move so quickly that he could not be detected. Noam barked and Quatre had to look down at him.

"Strange, huh?" he asked his companion and then patted Noam on the head as if reassuring his friend and himself that he was not going crazy. "I guess the door was opened after all." He laughed and then closed the door once again. He couldn't believe just how ridiculous the situation was. He had practically locked himself inside by not being able to properly turn the door knob. He really needed to scold himself sometimes.

As he walked back to the living room, Noam pulled on his shirt sleeve and prompted him to go back to the door. Quatre raised an eyebrow at the mangy beast and then looked at the same door Noam was coaxing him to go out of. Quatre kneeled down to pat him on the head again before asking himself why he didn't feel like going out all of a sudden. It had been days since he'd been out after all.

Instead of doing as his buddy had suggested, Quatre proceeded to Trowa's room and left with the sounds of Noam's indignant barking.

Making it all the way to Trowa's room without once looking back at his protesting companion, Quatre knocked lightly before welcoming himself inside. Trowa was there although he didn't know how he'd accurately guessed it. The man was languidly sitting on his bed and reading. Because he was entranced by the all too familiar image, Quatre wordlessly made his way to the bed and sat beside Trowa.

The man he had intruded upon didn't seem to mind as he continued reading a safe distance away. The bed was big enough that he was still far away. Quatre moved closer and that was when Noam started barking again.

Quatre couldn't help it; however, as he crawled up beside Trowa, lured by the musky scent of the other man as he so skillfully ignored the intruder on his bed. He looked at Trowa, remembering the very cold neck of the man he'd attached himself to earlier. Trowa was always cold, he recalled. It added an air of mystery to his already stoic countenance.

"Trowa," he said in a breathy whisper. He did not know why he was doing so, but something inside him seemed to be controlling his actions. It didn't feel wrong, however. It felt just right even when the loud barking and tugging from Noam was disrupting his half-trance. "Trowa," he said again.

The other man finally looked up at him with his blank stare and placed his book down on his bedside table. When he looked back, he grabbed Quatre's chin with a hand and stared. Quatre could not help but stare back into the beautiful emeralds. He couldn't even pull back as Trowa's other hand traced a finger down his cheek all the way down to his chin.

"Why must you continue to beleaguer me?" Trowa asked, this time running his fingers along the curve of Quatre's lips. "It should be enough that images of you haunt me every night."

Quatre found the conversation strange but could not get himself to react differently. Any other time, he would have pushed Trowa back and ran out the door with Noam in tow but this instance was different. It was as if he wanted to play the game. He was thrilled more that he could comprehend and excited in a way he feared. Trowa felt dangerous and he wanted to find out just how dangerous he was.

"And what images would that be?" Quatre asked in a low voice, his lips curving up as if teasing the other man.

Much to Quatre's surprise, Trowa pushed him back and picked up his book once again. It seemed he was offended by the question but did not want to elaborate on why he'd taken such offense. Quatre blinked, caught red-handed doing something he shouldn't have. That was when he noticed the sharp teeth embedded on his ankle.

"Ouch!" he screamed when he finally noticed. "Noam, that was not nice!" he reprimanded, pulling his ankle towards him and examining the bite marks. At least he knew that Noam had no rabies. Otherwise, he'd find himself hailing a cab miles away from the deserted town to find a half-decent hospital capable of attending to his injury.

"You didn't have to do that," Quatre muttered to his companion as the other cowered in fear. Still, Quatre was grateful that Noam had bit him. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from going along with the game his body felt like playing on him.

"There should be a first aid kit in the bathroom across your room," Trowa said, reminding Quatre that he was still there.

"Uh, thanks," Quatre said before quickly leaving the room. There was no use in asking for Trowa's help when the man had proven himself useless many times before. Yes, he could be a very mean bastard sometimes, Quatre had to admit.

Grumbling all the way to the bathroom, Quatre held on to Noam as he limped. He hoped that the old rickety house had at least a half-decent first aid kit. He was pleasantly surprised when he found one.

Noam helped him sit down on and proceeded to grab materials out of the first aid box with his teeth, the same teeth that had caused the injury in the first place.

"Thanks," Quatre said, amused as Noam picked out the antibiotics and the bandages from the box. His buddy was just too smart it made him proud. Even without training, Noam seemed to have the expertise of a doctor. It made Quatre laugh imagining his pal with a stethoscope around his neck and a white coat over him.

Quatre assessed his injury and decided that it was not fatal. When he was satisfied that he wasn't going to need any major surgery, he cleaned out the wounds before covering it up with bandages to keep infections out. When he was done, he gave thumbs up to his buddy as a sign of peace. Noam had so adorably given him puppy eyes for hurting him and Quatre had no choice but to forgive. After all, the big lug did stop him from doing something stupid.

"Do you need any assistance?"

The question came from outside the door of the bathroom and caused Quatre to yelp. He noticed that he was doing it more often. It was going to become a problem soon. He had started to become a nervous wreck and that was never good. Noam, on the other hand, had picked up the habit of barking whenever Trowa was around. Quatre stared at his companion as he did it again. He was surprised Trowa hadn't kicked them out yet after all the loud barking.

"I'm fine," Quatre answered, only to look back up at thin air. "Thanks for asking," Quatre added to the now non-existent man. He supposed he was getting used to Trowa's disappearing act. In fact, his lips curled upwards as he realized that Trowa was a bit of a softie even when he didn't want to show it. Not only that, he was also too stunning despite his intimidating aura.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Ventriloquist (Part Seven)**

It was with giddy delight that Quatre opened up his package, the very first package he'd received since he'd moved. The padded envelope felt good as he held it in his hands despite the many visible signs of abuse it had been through during its long journey. The smudge of ink and tracks of dirt never looked so lovely, having come from civilized society. Quatre dearly missed the loud city he left behind.

"Finally!" he said with gusto very early in the morning. It never occurred to him that he must have been disturbing Trowa. Noam reminded him of that possibility by shoving at his legs.

"Ok, ok," Quatre said when his pal nudged him none too gently. With the amount of weight Quatre had lost since he'd moved, the near gigantic creature managed to make him trip and fall. The only body part that broke his fall was his bony behind severely lacking in the meat department.

"Ow!" he yelped, feeling the searing pain brought about by the fall. Walking from his place to the main town just to buy groceries was giving him too much of a workout. He was loosing weight far too quickly, turning him into an even more defenseless creature than his current companion.

Noam barked in alarm before approaching him. Not long after, Quatre found his face slathered in dog drool. Thankfully, his package remained unharmed.

"Aww, it's alright buddy," Quatre consoled his friend although the fact that his face was being bathed in bacteria was starting to disgust him. "I'm fine. I'm fine. You could stop now," he continued, trying valiantly to move Noam's head toward a different direction.

After he'd successfully ran to the bathroom for a quick wash of his face, Quatre headed back to the living room to examine his precious package. Now that he was able to inspect it properly, he realized that it had come from his manager. It was about time. He was wondering if the guy forgot about him. It had been weeks since he'd talked to the man.

"Let's see what's in here, huh," Quatre suggested. Noam looked very much intent on finding out what was in it.

Taking a deep breath, he ripped the padded envelope open before flipping it over so that the contents would spill on his open hand. The first item to hit his palm was a cell phone followed by a short note. The note was short and simple, an instruction from his manager to call his father as soon as he opened the package. There were also some scribbles he couldn't understand, something about the difficulty of getting coverage in his area. Quatre turned the note over several times to find that it was the only message. Disappointed that his living arrangements were still somewhat of a mess, Quatre clutched the cell phone in his hand. It seemed that he was going to be stuck there for quite a while. Add that to the fact that his father wanted him to call. That alone was an already a bad sign.

Sighing, Quatre reasoned to himself that the place he was living in wasn't so bad. His landlord was accommodating enough that he didn't find himself completely bored most of the time. The only few stations available on TV were not very entertaining, so he'd taken to conversing with Trowa every time he could. The other man was always silent, but at least he nodded every now and then. There were even a few times when Trowa had given him opinions on the book he was reading, which happened to be Quatre's writing. His landlord seemed engrossed in it because it was third time Trowa had read through it.

All in all, things weren't really that bad. Except... Quatre noted the few times when he'd acted strangely around Trowa. Noam had managed to stop him from making a fool of himself several times already. There were certain instances when he acted far too familiar with the other, teasing him even. The thought alone embarrassed him, but he could not figure out the reason why he felt none of the shame when he was in the act of flirting with Trowa. The only conclusion he could come up with was that he was subconsciously drawn to the other man so that whatever repressed feelings he had within him were forcefully pulled out when he had the least control over it. Perhaps that was it, or perhaps he was drawing conclusions based on an article he'd once read in a random teen magazine. He shuddered at the thought. Sooner or later, he was going to start recalling several trashy and rather colorful articles about flirting which was really not his thing.

Shuddering at the thought of using the magazine as a guidebook to the rest of his dating life, Quatre flipped open his new cell phone and did what he was told. Several numbers later, his father's strong voice was heard.

"Father," Quatre said formally. After having left home a few years ago, Quatre had taken to calling him father rather than daddy. There was just something about leaving home that compelled him to treat their relationship more formally. After all, formality was the best defense when all the two of them had been doing for the past decade was argue.

"Quatre, you moved without telling me," his father answered just as formally, although the question was meant to display a father's concern regarding his son's well-being.

"I don't have to tell you everything I do," Quatre said. He was a bit annoyed that he was still being treated like a child. It never occurred to him that his father might have just been a little worried. After years of being forced into things he did not want and failing every one of his father's expectations, Quatre was immune to any and all parental affections.

His father sighed in response, sounding defeated before the real argument had even started. Quatre was surprised that his defeat didn't even take five minutes. Usually, they went at it for hours. It would start off as an accusation against his character, for being such a softie who couldn't defend himself, then it would be about his dog who he fed more than himself, then, his choice of profession, and then a variety of things that had to do with every aspect of his life.

"Giving up already?" Quatre asked, slightly disappointed that they had not followed routine. His father was supposed to be mad and he was supposed to blow up two minutes later.

"Son, you are still my child no matter how insolent you are."

Rolling his eyes, Quatre figured that it had to come eventually. He could already imagine what would follow. His father was surely going to talk about his abandonment of the family business. Quatre started to count to ten.

One, two, three...

"Son, are you gay?"

Quatre immediately chocked on his own saliva. Out of all the things his father would ask, his preference of partners was the last thing Quatre expected. He hacked several times, trying to consolidate the fact that the question was asked and that it was his father asking.

"Excuse me?" Quatre said after almost dropping his newest possession. He feared for the phone's safety more than anything. It was his only connection to the outside world.

"Son, I have to know," his father asked gravely, sounding as if it was the most important question in the world.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Quatre said, his voice rising in volume with every word that came out of his mouth. He could feel the rush of blood to his face. Noam didn't seem to pay attention to their conversation because he continued to lie next to his feet, looking far too bored to even understand what was going on.

"Quatre, I think I've known since you were four," his father said. Quatre could only hope that it wasn't a trick of some sort. "Son, you've always preferred pastel colors. Besides, you always picked the pink cotton candy at the amusement parks rather than the blue ones."

"I was a kid! Pink is a bright, eye-catching color to any child!" Quatre defended himself. To think that his father had thought about his preferences all along - It was embarrassing to some degree. "Don't tell me you wanted me to call just to ask that question."

"I did."

Quatre rubbed the palm of his hand against his face, mortified that he was being asked such a personal question. Then again, he supposed it would come sooner or later.

"But why?" Quatre asked out of curiosity.

"Son, you didn't answer my question," his father said. The way he was insisting on it sounded like Quatre's sexuality was a major issue in that had to do with the course of the older man's life. "Son, you're my only child. You have to understand that I'm interested in your propagation of our blood line."

"You should talk. You only made one kid!" Quatre replied with vehemence. He was stressed, he was lonely, and he was in the middle of nowhere. The least his father could do was make him feel better.

"So, are you homosexual or not?"

Fearing that the questioning would never end, Quatre gave in.

"I'm not sure," was his answer.

"Not sure? Could you find someone so you we could validate that right now?"

"What? You want me to jump the first warm body I come across?" Quatre asked incredulously. Really, what was it about his father? Was it old age that caused the sudden quirk?

"Why not?"

Quatre looked around the room, just to amuse himself and felt the heat radiating off his buddy who was leaning against his foot. As much as he wanted to find out, he was very sure that he was not into bestiality. As if sensing his thoughts, Noam immediately ran for cover.

"Hey! I'm not a pervert," Quatre admonished Noam. He was irked that his best friend was teasing him. He just knew it. The big lug seemed like he was enjoying riling Quatre.

"So son, was it a man or a woman you molested?" his father's voice came from the other end of the line.

"Father," Quatre warned. "I am not doing this just to satisfy your curiosity. Besides, there is no other warm body in here aside from Noam."

As soon as he said it, Quatre was immediately graced with the presence of his landlord who seemed to pop out of nowhere. Quatre jumped in his seat, scrambling to the other end of the couch. Trowa didn't seem to notice his distress as he positioned himself on the unoccupied end of the couch before picking up his book to read.

"Trowa, you could at least make some noise once in a while. You're really going to give me a heart attack one of these days," Quatre said, forgetting to take the phone out of his ears. As a result of his mistake, his father heard every word he said.

"I'm assuming Trowa is a he," the older man queried from the other end of the line. "Do you find him attractive?"

"What?" Quatre said, immediately covering the lower end of his phone, hoping that Trowa did not hear any of it. His father had almost hit close of home. After all, Quatre had more than once flirted with the strange man, not out of his own volition of course. But still, it didn't take away from the fact that he actually made a move on Trowa.

Was Trowa attractive? That was the first question that came to mind. Of course he was attractive. He had the prettiest eyes even if they were dull and lifeless. His hair was unique in a mysterious and eerie sort of way. His stature was tall and elegant. His movements were refined, reminiscent of the aristocrats of long ago. His voice was like ice and fire with the way it seemed to slice the air with its strange mix of formality and concern. Trowa was as attractive as they got. Now the next question was if Trowa was attractive to him rather than merely attractive in general.

"Quatre?" his father said as he took his time to assess his findings. "I'm assuming that the lack of answer means that you find him attractive and are speechless enough not to describe him. That's all I wanted to know, son."

With that, the line was disconnected. Nevertheless, Quatre continued to hold his cell phone close to him while staring at Trowa. For some reason, within the time he assessed Trowa's attractiveness, he found himself caught in a trance once again. Without even thinking, his body moved toward Trowa as if his muscles wanted to touch the other person on the couch. Unfocused eyes glazed over as he moved his head closer and closer to Trowa's own. His landlord didn't seem to notice it or perhaps didn't seem to care. He didn't move, not until Quatre was within inches from his face.

"I told you to stop hounding me," Trowa said in the coldest tone of voice Quatre had ever heard. Still, his body refused his command to back away. "You won't like the consequences of your invitation," he continued.

"Oh?" Quatre asked curiously, although he was sure that it was not the question he was intending. In fact, he wasn't even intending to get that close to Trowa. His body was moving on its own accord.

"Continue to tempt me further and I will not hesitate," Trowa said, not specifying what it was he was threatening to do. Quatre was afraid of what that might mean, but his body continued to move. He didn't even notice Noam start to growl in Trowa's direction.

With a gracefulness he didn't remember himself having, Quatre lifted a finger, running it through Trowa's sharp jaw. The icy coolness of the other's skin bit at his own, reminding him of the many ways that Trowa was cold. Unsatisfied fingers then ghosted over his landlord's lips, as if prepping it for a sultry kiss meant to melt the ice that seems forever present in the other.

However, before Quatre had successfully connected his lips with the other, a very loud crash resounded from somewhere behind him. The crash seemed to be the trigger that broke him out of his trance. Quatre looked behind him to find his savior with a wary look on her face. Old lady Catherine had a rock held in her hand although it was obvious that she'd already thrown one, breaking a window in the process. Quatre supposed that she was planning to throw it toward his head if he didn't snap out of it.

It was only then that he noticed that Noam was barking in frenzied abandon and pulling him away from where Trowa sat. Surprised and unable to comprehend what had just happened, Quatre turned to Trowa intending to ask if he knew what was going on. Only, when he managed to turn around completely, he discovered that Trowa was gone once again. With the speed with which he left, Quatre thought that he might have simply been dreaming all of it. His cell phone was still held in his hand. The dull tone coming from the device reminded him that he had failed to finish his conversation with his father.

"Quatre, get out of there," the old lady instructed him.

"Out of here as in this couch of out of here as in this house?" Quatre clarified while he tried to calm Noam down. With the way everyone was acting, it seemed like he was in danger. He saw no reason for danger. If it was Trowa they feared, he wasn't even there. The strange man may have been cold, but he was surely a good person. Quatre contemplated the matter. It was a possibility that they were merely trying to stop him from shamelessly flirting. However, the idea was abandoned when the old lady answered in earnest.

"The house child, the house!" old lady Catherine said with fright. "It has become clear to me that the creature alone cannot protect you," she said, referring to Noam. "You have to leave there at once."

Concerned about the possible reasons for the old woman's request, Quatre complied, taking nothing with him and immediately leaving through the front door. He felt somewhat guilty for leaving Trowa behind but was unable to think further on it when he was dragged out into town. The old lady was amazingly strong as she tugged on his bony arm, managing to make him trip a few times. Noam was close to follow although he remained quiet this time.

"Umm, could you tell me what's going on?" Quatre asked when he saw the town center looming close by. "I'd really like to know why I'm getting this creepy feeling. Is there something I should know?"

"Many young lads have rented that place over the years," Catherine explained. "None of them ever came out alive."

"What?" Quatre asked with alarm. He could feel his eyes widening. He suddenly felt a chill work its way up his spine. To hear something that frightening when he was living in the house... The old lady should have told him earlier. There was no telling what could have happened to him if she didn't tell him.

"That house is where many young men met their untimely deaths. That day it rained, you managed to stay alive. I'd thought that it was because of the creature that guarded you. I've only realized now that it's something else."

"And you never told me any of this, why?" Quatre said, stopping abruptly. That forced the older woman to let go of his arm. "I could have been killed and no one warned me?" he continued, very angry that he was not informed earlier. Only imagining the possibilities of what could have been scared him more than he cared to admit. He was sure the slight shaking of his form showed.

"You are alive and well. That is all that matters."

"Wait, Trowa's still in there! We have to go back for him," Quatre remembered all of a sudden. "We can't leave him."

When Noam howled in protest, Quatre turned worried eyes to his buddy.

"I know you don't like him, but I have to make sure he's alright," Quatre reasoned out to his still howling companion. It frustrated Quatre that Noam was acting strange, like he too was afraid.

"Fool!" Catherine interrupted all of a sudden. "Did it ever occur to you that Trowa might have been the cause of all these tragedies?" she said, once again pulling on his arm. "Forget about him unless you also want to meet your untimely death."

Scared for his safety but still worried about Trowa, Quatre could do nothing but follow the old lady into town. Perhaps she would be more willing to give him answers later.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Ventriloquist (Part Eight)**

Staring lazily at the strange pattern of triangles and circles in the wall, Quatre wondered whether he would ever get the chance to go home to Trowa. It hadn't even been four hours since he left the place, but he already found himself feeling lonesome. Noam had not left his side since then but had fallen asleep a little after they were lead to their temporary lodgings. The cheery, if not overly zealous, orange and pink wallpaper in his room did nothing to take away the disappointment he felt at having been shoved, without explanation, to some old lady's house and placed under house arrest. The least they could have done was stuff him into a less visually challenging room. The bright patterns on the wall sure weren't making him any less melancholy.

"Can't fall asleep?"

Quatre thought more along the lines of 'can't stop staring at the stupid wall' but chose to be more sociable since he was being protected from eventual doom, whatever that meant. He had yet to find out what was really going on around that town.

"I guess," Quatre answered, momentarily taking his eyes off the wall. He began to wonder if it was the same image people on a drug-induced high saw. "I would appreciate it if someone told me what's going on."

If he was going to be butchered then he at least wanted to figure out why. If he had enough details then maybe he could come up with a plan to stop the eventuality that the old lady seemed so scared about. His fear was eluding him for the time being, giving him the courage to ask for the truth.

"It will be hard to believe."

Quatre scoffed at the old lady's answer, unable to stop himself from being a little rude. He'd been faced with challenge upon challenge lately. For one, his manager wouldn't help him figure out how to get his old apartment back. Heck, the guy was probably still at Tahiti enjoying a nice, cold beverage while he was being given a back massage by a voluptuous, native woman. Add to that the fact that his landlord was cold, creepy, oh, and yes - a supposed murderer. There was no way things could have gotten worse short of his father insisting on his preference of mates.

"I can't just live here for the rest of my life waiting for my landlord to come and kill me. I have a life you know," Quatre said in defeat. True, that life of his was a little lacking, but it was still a life. "I'm sure I can trust whatever you have to say."

There were many aspects of his move that were hard to believe, including the fact that Noam had successfully held an intelligent conversation with him, never mind that it was actually Trowa doing the talking. Now that he thought about it, Trowa himself was unbelievable. The way he would appear out of nowhere and disappear just as suddenly was creepy. But still, he learned how to cope. There was absolutely nothing that he wouldn't believe at that point.

"Child, I believe that you are in danger," the old lady spoke, pulling up a rather rickety chair to position herself on.

"I think we already got that covered," Quatre responded.

Pulling up his feet from the ground in fear that something under his bed might pull on them, Quatre made himself comfortable on the ancient bed he was offered for the night. At least it provided him with the warmth Noam could not provide. His buddy was sound asleep on the floor at the foot of his bed.

"Over the years, Mr. Barton has had several tenants live in that house."

Grabbing a pillow, Quatre tried to find a position suitable for old Catherine's story-telling. If he got scared then he could at least squeeze the pillow instead of disrupting Noam's sleep.

"Mr. Barton is known for taking in tenants, young men your age seeking either cheap lodgings or adventures that could only be found in desolate towns such as ours. Most of them last two or maybe three weeks before their bodies are discovered tied up and lacerated in the town square. It is always a grotesque sight and always falls on the day when the rain is the heaviest. The poor lads don't even know what dangers they face once they step foot in this town."

"I think they would have appreciated a warning," Quatre said with a roll of his eyes. His stomach was protesting the food he had for dinner after hearing what the elderly woman had to say. His imagination was a little too wild that the descriptions told to him in words were turning into a painted nightmare.

"You think they were never warned, boy?"

Quatre shrugged, hugging the pillow close to his chest. He was hoping that she wasn't making any of it up only to scare him. Somehow, he imagined his manager suddenly popping out from under the bed and telling him that it was all a prank meant to toughen him up upon orders from his father. Truth be told, he was a bit of a coward when it came to such things although he would never admit it to anybody except maybe Noam.

"Young men are frivolous and adventurous. If old people such as myself come to warn them, they do not take it seriously. To many, the stories of this town are absurd. They sound like preposterous lies thought up by old fogies who have nothing better to do."

"I would have believed you," Quatre supplied with a frown. "Why didn't you warn me?"

"You had him," old Catherine said, pointing at his sleeping companion. "The most Mr. Barton could have done was drive you away. He does not hate animals, but he has an aversion to dogs, like the way cats would fear them."

Thinking about all the times Trowa had been around Noam, Quatre could not possibly imagine that the man hated his dog. True, he had been irritated when Noam barked too loud, but Trowa more or less tolerated his buddy. Noam, in the same way, was wary around Trowa but tolerated his presence anyway.

"Then it's not safe for me to return?"

"Perhaps," old Catherine replied, averting her eyes from him so that she was looking at the sleeping lump of fur at the foot of the bed. "Still, if it wasn't because of this creature that you're alive then it must be something else. Dare I say that Mr. Barton has grown rather fond of you."

"Wait, so you're confirming that it was Trowa who killed all those people?" Quatre asked, changing the subject. He was unable to process the information that had to do with Trowa actually liking him. The guy had only one expression on his face, leaving Quatre with nothing to work with.

"There is no proof that Mr. Barton had done them himself."

From what information he was given, it was easiest to come up with the conclusion that Trowa was the guilty party. It still bothered him a little because he'd grown attached to the cold visage of his landlord.

"But it's too obvious anyway, right?" Quatre asked. "I mean, all the people found dead lived in his place and he does act a bit creepy. It makes him really suspicious."

"It's not that simple," Catherine almost snapped.

The sudden reaction frightened Quatre so that he jumped from where he was seated. The room was not helping the mood any and Noam was still fast asleep. Catherine seemed to notice his fright because just as quickly as she snapped, she sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder. She was rather harsh with the way she spoke to him now, but then there were several instances when she had proven herself more genial in nature. There must have been a reason why she reacted the way she did.

"I'm sorry. This town has lived with these tragedies long enough is all," she said with a gentle voice that reminded Quatre of the warm, motherly figures he'd often imagined, not having grown up with any.

"I can figure out how Trowa could be a murderer. He gets really mean sometimes. Still, there are times when he's really nice that I can't figure out which one is the real him," Quatre said, his answer coming out in a whisper.

Despite coming up with the conclusion that Trowa was a dangerous madman, he was still unable to reconcile the heinous act with the gentle man who was more often than not seen reading his novel. To him, Trowa was just Trowa and nothing more. Whatever he did during his free time didn't seem to bother Quatre one bit and that alone made him wonder.

"He was a gentle lad, that boy," Catherine said, disturbing him from his thoughts. "He was always quiet, never talked to anyone much. But he spent too much time with the lions and treated them as if they were his most trusted comrades."

"You know Trowa?" Quatre asked. His eyes grew wide with curiosity.

"I wouldn't be talking about him this way if I didn't now would I?"

Unconsciously, Quatre inched closer to the elderly woman, almost falling off the bed in the process. Perhaps he could clarify some things while she was willing to divulge information.

"How did you know each other?"

"I worked with him," Catherine answered, causing Quatre to raise a brow. It didn't make sense at all. Quatre's brain short-circuited imagining the old lady on a trapeze with Trowa. It was a hilarious mental image. His landlord did mention that he used to work in the circus. However, their age difference was ghastly, so another explanation could have been that Trowa performed when he was a little kid. No other image seemed to work for him.

"He was like the little brother I never had," Catherine continued. Her old gray eyes spoke of weariness as she said it, making Quatre wonder even more about what had caused the rift between the two. They never seemed to talk and Trowa always looked defensive around her, as if he didn't want her interfering with his business. The again, he'd never seen Trowa interact with anyone. He could only remember his landlord look disapprovingly down a window when he'd been caught conversing with Catherine not too long ago.

Quatre did not know what to say, feeling bad that he was becoming too intrusive. He'd asked the questions and received answers. He was content for the time being even if he wasn't able to ask about the more specific details of who Trowa was landlord and circus performer aside.

"It's getting late," old Catherine said abruptly. If Quatre didn't know any better, he would have thought that she was avoiding something. "You should be getting some sleep."

Like a mother to her child, Catherine ushered Quatre to bed despite his protest. No kisses or bedtime stories were necessary so it was not long after when the lights were closed and Quatre was left alone with a sleeping Noam. His eyes closed out of their own accord, allowing him to drift off into a lulling sleep.

oOo

It was dark out and very early in the morning when Quatre's cell phone, his only connection to the outside world, went off. Murmuring groggily into his pillow, Quatre reached out to the night stand where the blasted contraption was located. The glowing numbers on his phone indicated that it was one thirty in the morning, causing him to groan and let his head flop back down on the pillow. Reluctantly, he accepted the call, afraid that he would wake up the residents of the house. Noam seemed to be having quite the deep sleep as well, so he was loathed to disrupt his buddy's rest.

"Hello," he said into the phone, hoping that it wasn't his father on the other end of the line. He was sure he wouldn't be able to handle another 'life question' from his father in the ungodly hours of the morning. Talking to him was torture enough already.

When Quatre did not receive an answer, he blinked his eyes open, checking to make sure that the line was still open.

"Hello?" he tried again, this time sitting up.

He heard slight breathing from the other end of the line, signaling him to the fact that there indeed was someone on the other end. Wondering why the caller wouldn't talk to him, Quatre tried again.

"Hello?" he said, this time raising his voice a little.

"You left me," was the sudden answer. The familiar voice was eerie in an accusing sort of way. It made Quatre shiver.

"You left me alone," the voice repeated again, making Quatre jump. The voice was menacing this time, making its accusation even clearer with the delivery of each word. For some reason, Quatre couldn't get himself to take the phone off his ears despite his fear.

"Come back to me," the voice then said. The speaker's anger seemed to disappear only to be replaced with a melancholy that was meant to garner sympathy, but instead made Quatre suspicious. "I'll be waiting for you."

Feeling himself to be bolder than usual, Quatre shut his phone and stood up. As if controlled by reflex alone, he put his shoes on and walked out the front door of the old house. Within minutes, he was walking in the cold. It didn't even occur to him that he'd forgotten to bring Noam with him.

Amidst the darkness of the early morning, Quatre walked blindly, the barely lighted streets not the least bit familiar. Nevertheless, he continued following his feet's commands, forcing himself to calm down and follow what his currently non-functional brain was telling him to do. He recognized the voice as Trowa's and could not figure out how the other man had gotten a hold of his number. He didn't even know his own number.

Still wary of associating himself with Trowa, Quatre continued to move forward until he found himself in front of Trowa's house. The other man was not there to greet him, but the front door was left wide open. It was as enough a welcome as Quatre needed. Without thinking about it any further, Quatre entered the house and closed the door. As suspected, Trowa was waiting for him.

"Why did you leave?" Trowa asked immediately. There was no inflection whatsoever in his voice so it was hard for Quatre to assess his mood. He didn't sound angry, only aloof as he sat on the dusty old couch while reading Quatre's book.

"Umm, I went to see a friend?" Quatre suggested. He knew that he didn't sound the least bit trustworthy, but he wasn't about to tell Trowa what his real reasons were.

Quatre approached Trowa as one would a wild beast, taking his time to glance at his surroundings. Surely there was something sharp lying around to protect himself with if Trowa ever thought of attacking him. Trowa didn't seem to notice or even care that he was approaching. That gave Quatre the courage to take his eyes off the other and grab the metal stick right next to the fireplace. When Quatre looked up, Trowa was no longer there.

"What do you need that for?" Trowa asked all of a sudden from behind him. His whisper was soft and curious, as if he was confused as to why Quatre would need to use such an object when talking to him.

Quatre closed his eyes in fright, feeling the cold breath of his landlord right next to his ear. He hoped that Trowa did not suspect that he knew about the murders. Otherwise, Quatre would be dead meat before the sun rose. Noam would surely mourn his passing. Sadly, he couldn't say the same for his father. His old man would probably bemoan the loss of his bloodline instead.

"I, umm... wanted to start a fire since it's so cold in here," Quatre said tentatively, waiting to see if Trowa would chop his arm off with a butcher's knife. "Umm, I needed the stick to poke at the left-over wood to see if it's big enough to start a fire."

Quatre knew that he was talking too much, explaining more than what was needed of him. He was so dead. Trowa was probably enjoying watching him squirm. His far-fetched explanation was probably being committed into Trowa's memory before the guy began chopping off his body parts one by one. Quatre felt his heartbeat quicken with his impending doom.

"Then I'll start a fire for you," Trowa responded.

Surprised that he was still alive, Quatre watched Trowa do just as he said. Despite that, he tried not to delude himself. It was possible that Trowa was letting him celebrate the momentary survival while he plotted something more wicked. Perhaps Trowa was going to eat him afterwards. Now _that_ was a scary thought. It made Quatre shiver, not because of the cold but because of the fright.

"Where is your dog?" Trowa asked casually. He looked harmless as he squatted down to the level of the fireplace and poked at the embers with the stick Quatre once held in his hand. It was funny how he didn't even notice it disappear from his hand. Trowa picked up a few logs Quatre did not notice earlier and threw them into the growing fire.

"I, uhh... forgot him at a friend's place," Quatre said. It may have been impossible for Noam to appear right at the last minute, but Quatre was hoping that his buddy would show up soon to save him.

"But I thought that he never leaves your side?" Trowa said with an evil smirk while he looked up at him.

Quatre knew that his eyes were turning into the size of saucers. That was it for him. There was nothing else that could save him now. Shaking further, he watched as Trowa picked something up from the couch and inched closer and closer to him.

"I'm too young to die," Quatre murmured to himself over and over again. He did not attempt to run nor did he try to scream. He was simply too fragile for these kinds of things.

Quatre did not notice what came in contact with his body because before he could confirm what the object was, he'd already passed out. If he waited two seconds longer, he would have realized that it was a warm blanket, not a knife that was placed across his shoulders.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Ventriloquist (Part Nine)**

The sun was in his eyes. He could tell without opening them. He could feel the warmth and the intense radiance penetrating his skin to enter his shielded eyes. It was irritating, especially since he felt no need to get up early. He'd already been up all night doing something he couldn't quite remember, so he forfeited the waking world in exchange for more sleep and turned to his side to hide from the sun's rays.

"It's past ten," he heard a voice say. Despite digesting the trivial information, he couldn't quite get himself to respond, not even to ask who the unknown person was. "How long will you be staying in bed?"

"Mmm... As long as I want to," Quatre mumbled, folding the unoccupied half of his pillow over his uncovered ear. Really, was it too much to ask to sleep in? He wrote for a living, so no strict schedules were necessary. He could write whenever he wanted to. That was, unless Trowa was being cranky and wanted him out of the house. Which reminded him, there was supposed to be some issue about Trowa that kept him up last night.

"Gonna kill me," Quatre grumbled into his pillow before both his eyes shot open realizing what he'd just said.

Quatre rolled so that his back was against the mattress. Upon doing so, he came face to face with the familiar, angular face always covered by a fall of hair. Trowa would really look so lovely if he weren't already a murderer.

"Ahhh!" Quatre screamed until he could no longer breathe. He clutched his blanket close to himself to offer him some sort of protection against the malicious entity right above him. After taking a deep breath, he screamed again. He should have remembered! Trowa was out to kill him and he was just lying there, waiting to be murdered, his sickly body to be later displayed in the town square.

His throat felt raw but his terror did not subside. All he could do was scream for however long it took him to lose his voice. It didn't quite sink in that Noam was nowhere near him, which, if he knew, could have very easily escalated his hysterics.

"I'm not very fond of loud noises," Trowa reminded him in between his screams.

Quatre breathed in deeply to prepare for another loud cry for help, but a realization hit him.

"Wait, you didn't kill me last night?" Quatre asked although it was already obvious what the answer would be. He stared wide-eyed at his landlord waiting for the answer.

"No," Trowa stated simply. Although anyone else might have been exasperated when faced with Quatre's panic, Trowa only looked bored.

Sitting up, Quatre surveyed his body. No holes, no blood, no injuries were to be found. In fact, he could just have been coming up with unfounded suspicions. Trowa probably wasn't a murderer. Sure, he did like isolating himself and he was always on the verge of psychotically creepy, but he was still kind enough to take him in. Trowa even fed him once. The guy really wasn't all that bad. Quatre could only blame it on the attitude.

"Then, what were you doing?" Quatre asked, looking around his room. He was looking for something, but he didn't know what. There was something very important, something very furry he was forgetting.

"I was waiting for you to rise," Trowa answered as he moved his head closer to Quatre's. His inspection was bordering on strange with the way his face moved closer and closer. Quatre had no choice but to lean back until he returned to where he started - lying flat on the mattress.

"Who told you about my malicious intentions?"

"Umm..." Quatre considered it for a few minutes. He didn't know if it would be disrespectful to give away his sources, especially since old lady Catherine had been really nice to him. She had even taken care of him during the few times Trowa was too moody to deal with him and Noam.

"Wait. Where's Noam?" he asked, suddenly frightened. He didn't mean to change the topic, but his buddy was always top priority and to think that he'd forgotten about Noam so quickly. It was inconceivable.

"You should know better than I do the answer to that," Trowa responded. He sounded a bit irritated, but not irritated enough to show it on his face.

"I don't remember where..."

Actually, now that Quatre took the time to think about it, he could remember sneaking out of old Catherine's place the night before and forgetting to take Noam along with him. He'd been a little dizzy back then. Surely Noam would forgive him for his temporary lapse of sanity.

"Who told you?" Trowa asked again, this time more forcefully. It made Quatre nervous especially with the way Trowa's hands suddenly secured themselves in either side of his head. With Trowa's palms flat against the mattress, Quatre felt trapped and a little more than intimidated. Something was telling him not to test Trowa's patience that morning.

"Old Catherine," Quatre squeaked in response. He could hear his conscience scolding him for being so spineless enough to give away one of the only people who'd been kind to him. Still, there was reason to fear Trowa now. There was so much evil radiating off him.

"Ever the meddler I see," Trowa seethed with annoyance. Quatre could only conclude that the two have had issues between them for quite some time. Catherine did talk about Trowa a bit although she had always been shady with the details. She seemed to like him even. Quatre wondered if Trowa really did feel such hatred toward her. His anger was becoming more apparent by the second.

"Are... Are you going to kill me?" Quatre decided to ask. He was cornered by two arms, which he estimated would be too much for him to struggle against. He damned himself for being so weak. A couple of those big muscles his father kept on talking about would surely be able to help him at such a critical moment.

"Not yet," Trowa answered, withdrawing from his position.

Quatre wanted to release a sigh of relief but couldn't.

"So you were planning to all along?"

Trowa had practically admitted to him that he planned on taking his life, but he wanted to hear him say it. Trowa was probably the culprit all along. Nothing would be able to calm Quatre down from that revelation. He was practically a sitting duck waiting to be turned into that night's dinner.

"I don't want to die," was all Quatre could say. He knew his whispered words were ineffective in gaining sympathy from his would be executioner, but he at least had to try. Somewhere inside the so-called monster could be a nice guy just looking for a more exciting hobby. Surely he'd already gotten sick of mutilating bodies.

"Quatre," Trowa said so reassuringly that Quatre almost forgot that he was in danger. "I would have taken your life on the second night of your stay," he continued. "But your hairy companion was always getting in my way and then, you just _had_ to start teasing me." His voice was icy, the type made to be feared.

"I was out of my mind and Noam was just being nice," Quatre defended. He knew he had no right to do so seeing as he would probably be skewered soon, but there was just no blaming Noam for anything; that, and his little seductive streak could be blamed on him having lost his marbles. He was not the aggressive type, therefore, not the type to flirt with anyone. He must have been drunk or drugged on something back then.

"And just what would you have done had I responded to your advances?" Trowa asked. His straightforward approach was not helping Quatre any.

"I don't know," Quatre replied with frustration, flicking his eyes around to find any means of escape. Although the situation seemed hopeless, there was usually another way out and he was going to find it whether Noam was with him or not.

"Leaving me again?" Trowa asked. The deviousness of his voice seemed fitting, considering his intentions.

All Quatre could do was whimper. All his self-depreciating inner-self could do was laugh at his inability to act under such dire circumstances. It was the waiting that was hard. Knowing that Trowa really did intend to kill him was harder to digest than just being stabbed without his knowledge and dying two seconds later.

"You look so delicate," Trowa noticed, once again taking up space next to Quatre. His fierce anger and momentary spurt of evil seemed to be replaced by curiosity. He tilted his head sideways, watching as Quatre's hair shivered with the rest of his body. The confusing shade of blue and green in his eyes looked fascinating as it sparkled with dread. "Is that why I couldn't do it?" Trowa asked himself.

Quatre stayed still as Trowa leaned forward so that his elbows were resting on either side of Quatre's body. His closer look was getting a little too uncomfortable as he continued to move closer and closer until they were mere inches apart. Quatre almost thought that Trowa would touch his face. All he could do was close his eyes. That was when Quatre heard Noam's barking and Trowa all but disappeared from his sight.

"Is that how you repay me, boy? You just leave in the middle of the night without telling me."

"Huh?" Quatre answered, still a bit baffled with what had just happened. Trowa was nowhere to be seen despite having been so close they could have almost touched. It was almost like Trowa had been afraid of Noam.

"Are you feeling well, lad?"

Blinking and shaking his head from side to side, Quatre sat up. The first thing he was greeted with was a very sloppy lick on the entire half of his face.

"Eww," Quatre reacted in disgust. Even if he did feel safer with his buddy around, there was still the problem of wet kisses that bothered him. And then, Quatre turned his head to be greeted by a wrinkled old face.

"Ahh!" Quatre screamed, only having now noticed the presence of old Catherine. She looked confused by his reaction and took to cleaning the sloppy area of his face with part of her long dress.

"You didn't hear me coming," old Catherine stated. "Surely you must have been truly out of it. Why else would you leave the safety of my home in the middle of the night wearing nothing but your sleepwear? You didn't even take this creature along with you."

Quatre digested the information while slapping his face. He'd been acting strange lately. It was as if his actions were no longer under his own control. It was never his intention to leave the old lady's home that night and certainly not the wisest decision to leave Noam behind. He tried his best to remember why he'd taken such a foolish and dangerous risk. Then, he remembered Trowa's voice on the phone.

"He was looking for me," Quatre said. "Because I didn't come home."

"There was a reason why you didn't come home to begin with," the old lady replied. "I didn't think you could be so bold."

"He sounded a little sad," Quatre replied, looking down at his hands.

Noam seemed to sympathize with him and joined him in the bed, not forgetting to place his head on Quatre's lap. It was a request for petting that Quatre did not refuse.

"I... don't know," Quatre said. He was confused. It was hard not knowing where he stood. True, he was scared that Trowa wanted to take his life, but he also wanted to know why. He feared Trowa and yet he couldn't stay away. For some reason, he knew that no matter how many times he left, he would always return.

"That boy has always been lonesome," Catherine admitted. Quatre looked up at her with surprise.

With a sigh, old Catherine sat down on the unoccupied side of the bed. "Only someone like you would consider someone like him worth the effort to walk in the cold."

"He said he was planning to take my life," Quatre said, remembering what had happened before Noam and the elderly woman showed up. He may have been hysterical then, but he was starting to feel a comforting kind of calm now that he was able to clear his mind a bit.

"But this does not frighten you? You have no plans of leaving this place again, do you?" old Catherine asked. "You know he won't spare you and yet you choose to stay. You may not be saying it out loud but I can see it in your eyes, boy. It seems he has enchanted you."

Noam easily agreed with the statement and barked in approval. Quatre had no idea what they were implying.

"Who would think that someone who refuses to rest in his grave would have that much of an effect on someone like you?"

"Wait," Quatre said. "We're still talking about Trowa here, right?" he inquired.

"Of course," old Catherine responded as if Quatre didn't understand a word she was saying. "You did know that he was a mere phantom of his once body, didn't you?"

"What do you mean?" Quatre asked again. He couldn't understand why she couldn't just speak in simple terms. What was it with all the masked language? He understood why someone would use it in writing, but in normal conversation, it just sounded odd.

Noam barked as if understanding the situation and could only bury his head in shame. It seemed that there was something about Trowa that everyone save for himself knew about. He was about to find out.

"Trowa died fifty years ago, lad. Don't tell me you didn't know."

"I had no idea!" Quatre said. The loud shrill of his voice matched the look of surprise on his face. "Why didn't anybody tell me sooner?" he nearly screamed in frustration.

Old Catherine just blinked, herself unbelieving that Quatre had no knowledge of Trowa's true existence. It should have been obvious from the beginning.

"Ok. I admit. I don't have a clue," Quatre said in defeat. How was he supposed to know that Trowa was dead, much less dead since fifty years ago? He wasn't a mind reader. Sure, Trowa disappeared all of a sudden sometimes and he was a bit chilly, but he was still mostly normal...

It was only then that he realized Noam's constant wariness over Trowa. The reasons for Trowa's sudden disappearances became apparent as well. No wonder Trowa always wore the same clothing while looking so pale he was almost translucent. Quatre felt stupid for not figuring it out sooner. Then again, he would have repeatedly had a heart-attack had he found out sooner. At least he had back-up now even if said back-up was his senior by several decades.

"You are attracted to a dead man," old Catherine said. It did well to interrupt his analysis of Trowa and did better to cause him to choke on his own spit.

"What? Where did that come from?" Quatre said. He was coughing so much that Noam had to put a paw up to his back and rub. The paw was a little too small to cover the entire area of Quatre's back, but it was still appreciated.

"Your creature told me," the old lady answered.

"No way!" Quatre said, continuing to cough. If she didn't stop, he was going to keep on choking on his own spit and end up killing himself even before Trowa got his hands on him again.

"Noam, what is wrong with you?" Quatre whined, turning to face his constant companion. Of course, Noam didn't speak but his actions may have lead her to suspect. "Wait, maybe you're interpreting this all wrong," Quatre then said, turning back to old Catherine.

"Oh, I need an interpretation then? Your dog quite literally told me that you are attracted to Trowa," Catherine specified to which Quatre raised an eyebrow.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked her.

"Lad, are you slow or are you just a little too naive?"

"I prefer the latter."

"Who else do you think would have the ability to give your dog a voice?"

"Trowa?" Quatre asked slowly before realizing his mistake. "Oh my God!" Quatre blurted out. It was embarrassing. Trowa probably told old Catherine through Noam about his flirting sessions. The whole town probably knew by now. How could Trowa be such a loud mouth? He seemed like the quiet, moody type who didn't care one way or the other.

"And yes, just in case you were wondering," old Catherine continued. "He does love using the old skill he learned at our circus when he does his haunts. Throwing his voice is how he gets his boarders confused and completely terrified."

"Wait, _your_ circus?" Quatre asked next.

It seemed that he was getting all the newfound information all at once. He couldn't handle it. First, Trowa wanted to kill him. Then, Trowa was actually a dead guy who happened to blurt out his embarrassing secret through his ventriloquist act which he picked up from the circus in which Catherine worked probably fifty or more years ago. Quatre didn't know if he wanted to be sacred, embarrassed, angry, or satisfied with all the information he was receiving. He wasn't dumb, but he wasn't superhuman either. He couldn't take everything in with such calm and in such a respectable and dignified manner as someone else could.

"There is more," Catherine suddenly said.

Feeling himself not up for anything else that was completely strange, Quatre buried himself under the covers, sticking his body close to Noam's warmth. All the new discoveries would have to wait until later. In the meantime, he really wanted to go to bed and forget all about it.


	10. Chapter 10

**The Ventriloquist (Part Ten)**

He did nothing but stare and after some time, the staring turned into curious observation. He should have been afraid. He'd been telling himself that for close to an hour now, but he still couldn't figure out why he never got up and ran. The murderer was right in front of him and Noam kept on howling with no avail.

"You changed your clothes," Quatre said as he continued to stare at the object of today's scrutiny. "I've never seen you wear anything else."

Noam didn't seem like he was going to let up anytime soon.

"And you look a little different. Did you do something with your... self?"

After the scare he had the day before, everything went back to normal as if nothing big had happened. While he went back to being a minor (or so he hoped) annoyance, old lady Catherine went off to do some research on her won. Quatre felt calm and almost a little too secure inside the still creepy house despite his earlier shock at the ludicrous information he'd been told. Still, he had no urge to leave Trowa's side, even going so far as to follow him to his room and watch him read. A day's worth of thinking lead him to the conclusion that he was crazy, crazy enough to risk death as he continued to watch Trowa.

There was something different about his landlord today and Quatre was not the only one to notice. Noam seemed to sense the difference as well. That was the reason why his barking had not subsided since they'd started to follow Trowa around in the early morning.

"Why the sudden change Trowa?"

"It is only proper if I am to please the person who is attracted to me."

"What?" Quatre said, unable to understand Trowa's response. It was hard to hear what he was saying when Noam continued to bark. Trowa's voice was already faint enough to begin with. "Noam! Stop already!" he told his buddy. Thankfully, his plea was answered.

"Say that again," Quatre said as he found a more comfortable position on the bed. He stretched his legs on the mattress and propped a hand under his cheek.

"I said that it is only proper for me to please those who are attracted to me."

"Oh? How interesting," Quatre said, leaning against a dusty pillow to get a better view of Trowa. He was not one to gossip, but this was going to be an interesting tidbit. Human interaction - relationships and attractions specifically - were of great interest to him. He wrote about such subject matters after all. Since he lacked experience, he liked gathering information from those more fortunate than himself.

"Who's this new suitor?" Quatre prodded. Trowa, dead and capable of normal human functions, made him feel a little more than intrigued. Trowa brought with him a bit of mystery and mysteries always led to excitement and exciting stories were always a hit.

"I would hardly call him a suitor."

"Could I get a name?"

Trowa opened the book he was holding and turned it to the first page. When he found what he was looking for, he answered.

"Quatre Winner."

"Excuse me?" Quatre said, almost falling backwards from his position. He felt Noam's cold nose push him back into the bed before joining him. Trowa didn't seem to mind his buddy's sudden appearance on the already dusty bed. "And here I thought that my name was unique."

Noam howled like a suffering beast while Trowa merely stared at him. Quatre was confused. There was definitely something he wasn't getting.

"You are attracted to Trowa," Noam said in Trowa's voice, an obvious trick considering Trowa's skill with throwing his voice. It was only then that Quatre remembered that he'd discussed the same issue with old lady Catherine just yesterday. He couldn't help the heat that climbed up to his face. He must have looked like a tomato ready to blow.

"Am not!" Quatre denied, sitting up from his position. It didn't occur to him that he was facing Noam and not Trowa as he said it.

"Yes you are."

If he was going to lose face then he wasn't going to do it in front of Trowa. There was no way he was attracted to Trowa. His landlord was just deluded and so was the old lady. Noam was just as misguided as the rest of them.

"I'm not, ok," Quatre denied again, his hand turning into fists.

"Then why do you keep on following me around despite my admission that I have plans of taking your life?"

"I'm crazy?" Quatre answered without thinking. In fact, he might have really gone nuts since his move into the quiet town. His father must have caused him to finally lose it. Who else was there to blame but his father? The man was the cause of all his misery.

"Quite unlikely, Quatre. The only reason why you continue to put yourself within my presence is because you are attracted to me."

"You can't seriously be that conceited!" Quatre exclaimed, refusing to look at Trowa. The other man's logic was dead accurate. Even Quatre didn't realize it himself until he'd been called on it several times. Somehow, it all made sense. The only problem was that he was the last to find out and that in itself was a little embarrassing. Perhaps he was too naive not to realize what was already before him. His father may have been right about a few things.

"What you identify as conceit, I refer to as sound deduction. Quatre Winner, you are very much attracted to me although you haven't figured it out yourself. Even that creature beside you has known for quite some time."

"Then... Then, why did _you_ dress up all of a sudden?" Quatre said immediately to quell the growing embarrassment that he knew would render him dumb eventually. "It must be _you_ who's attracted to _me_ since it's _you_ who's trying to please me with your attire."

Trowa did not answer right away, seeming to think before responding. It was the wisest move. Even Quatre knew it was what he should have done. Outbursts only gave away the obvious. One had to think before talking.

"Quite frankly," Trowa started. "I am attracted to you as well," he said. His fingers came to rest just below his chin as if he was seriously contemplating what he'd just said. If he was embarrassed, it didn't show on his face. Quatre envied his ability to control himself.

"Are you serious?"

"Quite."

Quatre's mouth hung open, unable to believe that Trowa had been so straightforward as to admit something that he himself found embarrassing. His landlord was almost inhuman.

"I, uh..." Quatre said. Even when faced with dire circumstances, he still wasn't able to shut his mouth.

"I do not know what attracts me to you," Trowa admitted, making a dog-ear on the book he was holding before shutting it. "You should be thanking my attraction. It's the only thing that's been keeping you alive all this time."

Gulping, Quatre scooted backwards. There were just those instances when Trowa's aloofness suddenly turned into wintry strictness. The cold cruelty of his words was like daggers waiting to strike. It felt like a wrong response would earn Quatre a gaping, bloody hole through his body. All of a sudden, his courage was gone.

Noam seemed to sense the danger within the tension and pulled Quatre by his arm sleeve. He was forcefully dragged toward the door. Yet, it the height of his fear, Quatre noticed that he could not help but continue to stare at Trowa as he moved further and further away from him. Trowa, too, seemed to lack the ability to avert his eyes as he stared with the same intensity.

Noam barked once. Then, it was as if Trowa woke up to reality. He looked away immediately and resumed reading Quatre's book. Quatre couldn't help but notice that after all that time, Trowa was still not finished with it. His time to figure out just which part of the book Trowa was in was cut abruptly when Noam successfully pulled his dead weight completely out of the room. He could only smile at the hairy face of his body as he shrugged his shoulders. He really didn't know what had gotten into him.

"You certainly are rash, young man."

"Huh?"

Quatre looked up into the familiar face of the old lady he'd come to accept as a friend. She didn't look worried, only amused as she examined his still pinkish cheeks. She held a hand out for him, but he refused, finding it improper to pull the old lady down with him. He could have easily pulled himself up if Noam would just left go of his shirt. His hairy pal's sharp teeth were still clamped down hard on his sleeve.

"Noam, you could let go now."

An obedient pet for the time being, Noam quickly let go of Quatre's arm and sat on his hind legs as if a puppy waiting for his chow. His open mouth revealed the same sharp teeth that were now covered with saliva as he panted. It was obvious he wanted breakfast.

"You both need a meal," Catherine said when Quatre stood up to get himself into a more dignified position. His stomach rumbled in response. He'd been too busy following Trowa that morning to realize that he'd yet to eat.

"I forgot," Quatre murmured, dusting his shirt and trousers because the floors of Trowa's house really were dusty. He wasn't one to clean either, so the collecting dirt specimens thrived around their living area. It was disgusting, he realized as the old lady hauled him to the kitchen with ease. This time he blushed for a different reason. It was mortifying to realize that old lady Catherine was even stronger than him. In some sense, his feeling of weakness became all the more apparent.

"Rarf!"

Quatre was startled out of his quiet reverie, realizing that Noam's nose was pushing on his legs to move faster. Somehow, with his oldest friend around, simple distractions like weaknesses didn't seem to matter. Not for the first time, he was glad he picked up the abandoned, scraggly looking puppy from the shelter. Noam was his only defense against Trowa now.

oOo

"Wow he really does look the same," Quatre said as he scanned a box full of old pictures. A lot of them were black and white although there were a few colored photographs. It was strange to look at Trowa in the yellowing pieces of photo paper. He looked just as he was now even when Catherine had obviously aged. Back then, Catherine was a sight to behold. Quatre mourned the loss of the reddish hair that once graced the head of the same gray hair he happened to notice. She was beautiful, not that she wasn't beautiful now. Catherine, a woman who once dressed in a fabulously tapered bodice, still seemed to be graceful in her movements. Besides, if she could pull Quatre up with one arm then she was not to be taken lightly.

"At one point, he had become the main attraction of the circus."

"I can see why," Quatre said, noticing a wide variety of performances preserved in the photographs. Although the pictures were still, it was hard not to notice the way the once circus performer balanced himself in the most precarious looking objects. In one of the pictures, Trowa even had his head inside the mouth of a ferocious looking lion.

"What would you say was his favorite act?" Quatre inquired, continuing to rifle through the pieces.

"He had a fondness for ventriloquism," Catherine answered. "I'm sure you've noticed that he uses it all the time."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Quatre replied, becoming exasperated all of a sudden.

He'd been tricked by Trowa's voice enough times to learn his lesson and still, there were those times when Noam's intelligent conversations continued to frighten him. He knew it was Trowa speaking and yet, coming from Noam's obediently moving mouth, it seemed that Noam himself was the source.

"You didn't look so bad yourself," Quatre noticed, for the first time paying attention to someone other than Trowa. After all, it was not only his landlord's pictures that were available for viewing. In fact, the years the circus ran were presented in striking detail by the complete array of pictures.

"I was a knife-thrower," the once circus performer answered. The complement seemed to pass right by her. "He was my target. We were an unstoppable team. All he had to do was stand still, but it was his standing still that wowed not only me but also the crowd."

"Do you still do that kind of thing?"

"Heavens, no. The town's filled with old fogies like myself. Threaten them like that and they'll surely die of heart-attacks."

"So is everyone living in this town a former circus-performer?"

"Whatever made you think that?"

Quatre thought about it. Ever since he found out that Trowa was once part of the circus, he assumed that everyone else was since there was nobody around the place who seemed younger than seventy. It was strange. He began to wonder where all the young ones had gone. Certainly, it was easy to conclude that the youngsters had escaped the town's ancient and tiresome atmosphere, but the kids surely came to visit every once in a while.

"The youngsters died a long time ago and none of the town's people have given birth since," old Catherine answered Quatre's unvoiced question. "The population of this place declines every year. You could say that when we pass on, this town will die completely. That is, unless people like you start showing up and inhabiting the place."

"Umm, but we all tend to be murdered, right?" Quatre asked uneasily. He was a potential victim after all.

"And that is the reason why this town will die with the rest of us."

Shivering, Quatre began to feel uneasy about it. Slowly, Trowa's plans seemed to become clearer in his mind. The possibilities were considered and at the end of several moments of thinking, Quatre deduced Trowa's reason on his own.

"I guess Trowa doesn't want anybody to take over your territory, sort of like a way of preserving just the people he had known and worked with."

"That would be easy to assume. This was the town where we held our last performance after all. I know it sounds absurd because the place seems almost too empty, but it was once thriving with people, young and old alike. But, that would not explain why he kills the young or more specifically, the young men who happen to be drawn to this place."

"I think you know the reason."

"Indeed I do. Trowa has a unique kind of hate for young men."

"So you think he really did kill all the boarders?"

"The boarders?" Catherine asked in surprise. "There is no proof of that yet, but this I know for sure. It was decades ago when he did, in fact, murder a slew of young men his age. We found out not because we saw him in the act, but because he admitted it. What's more terrifying is the fact that he killed them without laying a finger on them."

"How did he do it then?"

Catherine paused.

"He threw his voice and they ended up killing each other in confusion," she answered simply.

Somehow, Quatre was not surprised. It was not to say that the story behind Trowa was one to be carefree about. He was living with someone dangerous. Attraction or no attraction, he was still in danger. Still, he couldn't quite believe what Trowa had told him earlier. The last time he checked, he wasn't falling for Trowa that hard or it was possible that he was just a little too dense.

"Wait," old Catherine said abruptly, effectively interrupting his train of thought. "I think that I've just figured something out. How could I possibly forget?"

"Forget what?"

"The reason why he killed."

Quatre scooted closer. Trowa's story was certainly something to be excited over. It was a mystery waiting to be told. It did well to give him inspiration for the book he was currently working on.

"He had been in love with a boy."

"That's it?" Quatre reacted. Surely there was more to the story than that.

"He had been in love with a boy," old Catherine repeated as if she was never interrupted. "The boy appeared mysteriously in the back of the circus tents one summer night. We knew nothing of him. We did not know his name or his origin, but I insisted that we take him in. I suppose you could call it maternal instinct. It was inevitable. His beauty was like no other. Trowa fell in love with him."

At that point, Quatre had already taken a pen and paper and was writing a few notes down. It was perfect for his novel. All of a sudden, he became grateful to his manager for sending him to such a place. Maybe the man was a genius when it came to these things. Perhaps he knew that Quatre would get some inspiration from the dying town.

"Oh, how interesting," Quatre noted. "What happened after?"

"The boy was accused of being a sorcerer."

"A sorcerer?" Quatre echoed.

"Trowa had never been enchanted by anyone. For him to even casually converse with anyone; it was unthinkable. It made the boy look suspicious, especially since he talked to no one but Trowa. In fact, his eyes, whenever anyone looked at them, were hypnotizing."

"Trowa was trying to defend him then?" Quatre asked, putting his pen against his cheek while concentrating on the old lady's tale.

"More like avenged him," Catherine answered. She then took Quatre's hand and then held it as if her next words were going to scare them both. "They murdered that boy, burnt his body in the town square. Even then he didn't scream, only looked at Trowa with those hypnotizing eyes as Trowa struggled to get to him."

"Who... who did it?"

"The same frivolous young men he killed the following day."

Quatre backed up into his buddy as the old lady said it, seeking the warmth of the creature he knew would be somewhere close.

"You should take care to be more careful around him."

"I... I'm not like those people he killed," Quatre reasoned half-scared and shaking. He wasn't a bad guy. He didn't deserve to be punished for being puny and spineless. He was practically the epitome of the nice, harmless guy next door.

"True," old Catherine answered. "But you look like the boy. His hair was the darkest shade of black and his eyes the deepest brown. You have neither his hair nor his eyes, but this I've come to know for sure -- you have his soul."

After that, Quatre could only hear the clatter of his pen as it fell to the floor.


	11. Chapter 11

**The Ventriloquist (Part Eleven)**

"Don't flatter yourself."

"But..."

Quatre blew on his wayward bangs. He had no idea it was that difficult to convince Trowa of his ideas, or at least, of old Catherine's ideas he was so helpfully conveying. It was embarrassing to say the least. The most he expected was for Trowa to look at him oddly, but for his landlord to actually come right out and say it - he was mortified.

"He was graceful and sensual, a sight to behold on the trapeze. You, however, are clumsy and childish."

In one statement, Trowa had managed to bring all his insecurities out into the open. Quatre couldn't help but look away in disappointment. No wonder nobody found him attractive. They probably thought he looked like a little kid.

"That's... That's really inconsiderate," Quatre stammered, trying to hide his embarrassment. Inconsiderate was not really the word he was thinking of. He was considering Trowa to be more along the lines of insensitive, but that would signal his weakness. It would reveal his lack of confidence.

"I never said you were not attractive," Trowa said suddenly. Quatre immediately looked up at him, momentarily forgetting what it was he was thinking so desperately about. "On the contrary, you are quite the charmer. I was merely referring to your personality."

It was Noam's cue to begin barking as he always did whenever Trowa made a weird comment.

"Although," Trowa continued. "I can't blame the childishness all on you. Your mutt tends to take away some of your charisma, especially when he behaves like such a wild animal."

Quatre frowned, pulling Noam to his side. Noam stopped his barking and took to snarling at Trowa instead. His threats went unnoticed because the adversary was a spirit, incapable of bodily injury in case Noam decided to deliver some.

"For your information, Noam's a pure breed," Quatre defended. "He's an Old English sheepdog and he doesn't act like a wild animal. He's just protective. That's all."

Noam licked Quatre's hand in approval.

"How sad," Trowa said, leaning back on the pillows behind him. He adjusted his position so that he was lounging on his bed instead of sitting upright. "Haven't you ever noticed the way you so valiantly defend that creature and yet can't say one word to defend yourself?"

Quatre crossed his arms. He'd never thought of it that way.

"It's a striking contrast to the way you write your books," Trowa then said.

"Go ahead and say it. I write like an old lady who owns twelve cats," Quatre huffed. He'd heard enough of it already. For him to hear it from Trowa's mouth was probably inevitable. Apparently, good books like his were supposed to have been written by more competent, stereotypical personas, preferably ones that didn't look and sound like grade-schoolers.

"Your novel is enchanting," Trowa continued as if he'd never heard Quatre's words. "It feels much like the seductive persona you let out every now an then."

Quatre let himself fall backwards into the mattress to escape Trowa's penetrating gaze. The color on his face was turning bright red. It was another discomfiture he wanted to hide. Trowa was much too blunt that it was making him feel cornered. Trowa was so good at it - catching him off-guard.

"So I'm not completely hopeless then," Quatre muttered as he stared at the old ceiling. A pattern of squares looked back at him, the yellowing and peeling of the corners revealing its age.

"I think it is your book I have fallen in love with."

"Oh great," Quatre said, putting a hand up to his face. He really was hopeless. The first guy, albeit a dead one, who found him attractive apparently didn't really find him attractive. The guy found his _book_ attractive. He was really going to die alone, surrounded by the books that made him that way.

"This is just about the perfect time to kill me," Quatre said, loosing all hope. Just when he thought Trowa started to look a little cute, he had to hear something like that.

"I can't," Trowa answered.

"And why not? You need a little slave to write more books you're going to fall in love with?" he said with a roll of his eyes. Really, some people were unbelievable. At least he could die knowing that the profession he had chosen for himself and not the one his father insisted on was the right one. He could die with the belief that his words were so captivating that they managed to make a dead man fall in love. Ah, it was such a perfect premise for his next book.

"Actually, the reason why I can't take you life is because you came alone."

Quatre sat up.

"Came alone?"

"Of course. I can't put a knife through you as easily as you think I can. I am a spirit after all. I use the foolishness of those living to do my bidding."

Now that Quatre thought about it, he remembered old Catherine mentioning something about having the boarders of the house kill each other. All Trowa had to do was confuse them by throwing his voice and they'd do all the killings themselves. It was ingenious really although Quatre had no plans of finding out how magnificent the method was.

"But I have Noam with me," Quatre suggested. He knew he wasn't helping his cause but he was curious.

"I do not like dogs much," Trowa admitted. "I find it difficult to control them, especially when they are loyal to their master. The most I could do with your creature is supply him with a voice. At least I know that doing so has managed to frighten you enough to make you faint."

Quatre frowned. He felt like Trowa was making fun of him. The only reason why he couldn't confirm it was because Trowa gave no indication of what he was really thinking. He looked almost bored as he spoke.

"Too bad then. It looks like I'm going to stay alive for a little longer," Quatre said smugly.

"But is it really better than living here with me for all eternity?"

Within an instant, Quatre found himself trapped under Trowa's lifeless form. His landlord, now self-proclaimed captor, stared at him with fervor. Cold hands, the result of successful materialization, were arranged symmetrically on either side of his head. Knees arranged with the same intent were positioned just somewhere below his waist to trap him from escape. Noam's frightened barking made it clearer that he was in no position to protest. For all he knew, Trowa could have been nothing but thin air when he shoved or worse -- Trowa could have been more powerful than just some spirit throwing his voice around.

"As I've said several times before, you are more attractive than you seem to think," Trowa whispered into his ear. There was a bit of insistence in the way he spoke. All Quatre could see was a head full of hair while the feeling of frosted breaths traveled down his neck into the skin beneath his shirt. "There is no need for you to compare yourself to _him_."

"I can't stay here forever," Quatre whispered in response. "I'm going to have to leave some time. Besides, you're already dead."

As if he'd been slapped, Trowa withdrew his head quickly while keeping his position pinning Quatre down. He looked furious as he stared down, for the first time revealing something other than the lifeless facade he always seemed to like showing. A mixture of fright, anger, and indecision were clouding the eyes that were always so calm. Noam didn't seem to exist anymore.

Trowa let out a dry laugh.

"I change my mind," Trowa said after regaining his composure. He brought his face closer to Quatre's as if testing if he'd turn away, but Quatre never budged. "You are like him after all. You may look harmless, but you're absolutely cruel. He didn't even give me a chance."

Moments later, Trowa disappeared. Quatre heard his heartbeats quicken as the breath of air he was holding was finally let free. Before Quatre could even think about becoming too scared to move, he ran for the photo albums Catherine had left the day before. If he was going to get out of there then he had to figure out a way out himself. Perhaps there were clues in the old pictures.

Quatre flipped frantically through the pages of the albums before moving on to the box of pictures. He didn't know how the mysterious person Trowa had liked looked like, but he had a feeling that he'd know once he saw him. There must have been something more than just his brutal murder that made Trowa the way he was. It couldn't have been that simple.

"Rawr," Noam sounded, slowing down his frantic search. Quatre looked down at his loyal companion.

"You want to help?" Quatre asked although he didn't know how much more helpful Noam could be. Being beside him was already enough.

Instead of barking a response, Noam tilted his head to the side indicating that he was asking a question.

"You're wondering what I'm looking for?" Quatre said, pulling a chair out of the table so that Noam could hoist himself up on it.

Noam responded by climbing up the chair and panting like a hungry dog.

"I want to know who he is, the guy whose soul I'm supposed to be carrying. You remember what old Catherine said the other day right? Maybe I could figure out what to do so he'll stop killing the people who come to live here. I also kind of don't want to stay here for the rest of my life."

Noam, just like a child who was listening to his mother, nodded in response.

"Trowa mentioned something about a trapeze. I think he's a trapeze artist or something."

Quatre imagined a lithe body flying through the air, swinging around with much grace. He imagined a tall figure with the darkest hair and the lightest colored skin, almost like a ghost. Unfortunately, no one with such a description appeared in any of the photos. At most, he saw bearded ladies and men with beer bellies wearing clown costumes. In fact, the most intriguing of the photographs had all featured Trowa and Catherine. On the back of the photos were written 'the great brother sister flying daggers act'.

"How about a 'Trowa and his love munchkin' picture?" Quatre said, unable to hold his laughter in. Sometimes he found himself a little too funny for his own good. Too bad Noam didn't appreciate his humor.

"I think the guy joined the circus later," Quatre said, trying to remember every one of his old neighbor's tales. She must have mentioned something that could be useful to him. "These pictures look like they're arranged by date. I should be looking at the end of the stack."

Just as he reached the end of the stack, Quatre noticed the cast of characters change. Although most of the original cast was retained, there were more youngsters in the pictures. They looked crude and a little indulgent. Their costumes were flashy and their smirks a little too proud. Trowa was nowhere near them in the pictures. Quatre had a feeling they were the ones who ended up dead in the town square.

"Hmm, what's this?" Quatre said when he came across a picture that looked cut-up from all four sides. It had no writing in the back, only the image of a lone figure balanced expertly on a swing. Quatre couldn't tell how high up he was from the angle of the shot but he was certain that the guy was on a trapeze.

The picture was a little old and the spots from what looked like liquid made it blurry, but Quatre could at least see some of it. On the picture was indeed an enigmatic figure with the darkest color of hair he'd ever seen. The darkness of his hair was striking even when the picture was in black and white. His eyes were huge, seeming to bore right through him. His face that was dusted with playfully applied makeup was unsmiling, but the gentleness of his character could be seen from the way he held the swing. Thin fingers were wrapped around the trapeze with little effort. It was obvious with the way a few fingers strayed from actually holding the rope. In fact, the figure didn't look like he was actually on the trapeze. He seemed to be separated from it. He looked like he was floating despite just standing there.

"Really creepy," Quatre said, unable to take his eyes away from the figure on the picture. The guy was like a siren calling to him to look closer so closer Quatre looked.

"You haven't had dinner yet."

Quatre felt like he jumped to the ceiling with the sudden intrusion. His heart was racing. He knew he should have been used to it what with Trowa constantly appearing and disappearing around him, but he couldn't help it.

"Err," Quatre said, looking up at the unidentified old man hovering over his bent head. "Can I help you?"

"Catherine told me drop off some food for you."

"Oh," Quatre said although he was unsure of the man. During the time he'd spent in the place, he'd only been in contact with a few people. Catherine was probably the only person he trusted out of everyone he'd seen. She was always looking out for him.

"What? Don't look so frightened. I'm not here to kill you young man."

Quatre was not quite ready to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Old Cathy said I had to feed the malnourished boarder at Trowa's place, so I'm just doing my job."

"Umm, thanks," Quatre said, reaching out for the food that was being handed to him. It was placed in a metal container so it was hot. Quatre withdrew his hand just as his fingers touched the metal.

"Silly child. That's the reason why you should grab it from the holder over here."

The old man grabbed his hand and placed it on the holder before disappearing into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he arrived with a set of utensils and a glass of water in hand.

"Say, do I know you?" he said as he proceeded to serve Quatre dinner.

Not knowing what else to do, Quatre allowed the old man to serve him.

"I, umm, go into town once in a while to pick up groceries," he replied.

"Ah yes!" the man exclaimed. "You're the young lad who'd never seen a cow before. I should have remembered. You were so frightened trying to milk that cow yourself."

Quatre flushed. He hoped that it wasn't all he would be remembered for. Seeing a cow inside the store and empty milk bottles next to it was misleading. He'd thought he had to milk his own cow. It was no wonder all the patrons of the store were sending him odd looks.

"That's me," Quatre answered in a whisper. It was going to be a while before he showed his face in there again. After all, Trowa didn't want him to leave the place. At least he could take comfort in the fact that anyone could come in and visit him whenever they wanted. Trowa didn't seem to mind other people coming and going that much.

"Say, I recognize those pictures from long ago," the man said. "That's me over there," he continued proudly as he pointed at the picture of the burly man lifting a car. Somehow, Quatre couldn't make the connection. The guy serving him dinner looked like a deflated mannequin.

"Oh," Quatre said with little enthusiasm.

"Hmm, so you were staring at a picture of _him_, were you?"

Quatre blinked.

"Ah, yes. Do you know him?" he asked right away just in case the man knew something useful.

"Sure. He was the prettiest thing to hit the circus. No one knew his name and he didn't get along much with the rest of the troupe, but Trowa had a thing for him."

"Really?" Quatre said although he already knew.

The old man pulled out a chair to join him. Noam was busy working on his steaming, home-cooked meal.

"Yeah. Cathy didn't like him much."

"Wait, did you say she didn't like him?"

"Sure. Trowa had never interacted with anyone other than him, not even Cathy. She was a little worried, but she supported them anyway. It was just bad fortune, I guess, that the rest of the troupe didn't see it the way she did. She thought it was great despite opposing him at first."

"Why would anyone not like him?" Quatre asked. For some reason, it felt like he was asking about himself.

"Because there were too many mysteries surrounding him. There were too many unknowns."

"I've already heard most of this," Quatre admitted. "But it still feels like I'm missing a lot here."

"Oh, you must be talking about the way he outright rejected Trowa."

"Wait, he rejected Trowa?"

It sounded bad, for him mostly. Now Trowa really won't let him leave. If he really liked the guy then it was only natural to think that when he finally got him back, he wouldn't let him get away again. The information spelled doom for him.

"Catherine never mentioned it to me before," Quatre said, suddenly feeling uneasy. He had to forget about the other boarders for the time being. His hide was really in danger.

"Nobody ever told her. She was protective of Trowa. How would you think she'd react if she found out? Besides, Trowa never mentioned it to us. Me and a few others found out accidentally when we passed by one of the smaller tents where they were talking."

Quatre sighed. It just got more complicated as the minutes ticked by. He should never have accepted his manager's decision to move. The guy hadn't contacted him in a while and his cell phone was probably molding with disuse. For all he knew, his father had already forgotten about him. He'd be living the rest of his boring life in the old house until his hair turned gray and his nose hairs started growing out in a grotesque fashion.

There should be some way of convincing Trowa to let him go. But first, he decided, he had to convince Trowa to leave as well. The guy had been haunting the place for what seemed like ages. It was time that he also took his leave. It was only right that he did.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Ventriloquist (Part Twelve)**

Quatre had taken to screaming lately and it was no wonder why. The dead guy seemed to have taken a liking to appearing next to him in bed just as he got up every morning. To his dismay, Trowa's annoying habit of ignoring him had turned into an eerie habit of paying far too much attention to him. Trowa's attention was not what he wanted, especially when he needed time alone to do a little more research. Even Noam had gotten tired of it. His half-hearted growls that were meant to drive Trowa away were becoming tiring for all of them.

"I've got to pee," Quatre said meekly as he peeked over the covers. Only the tips of his fingers and the upper half of his head were visible. He dearly hoped that Trowa was not a pervert because the thought of icy hands attempting to grope him somewhere was creepy.

"Your morning face is rather endearing."

Although flattering at first, Trowa's growing habit of complementing him was becoming ridiculous. Quatre could only blame himself for turning Trowa into the love-struck monster he now was. He just had to prod. It was unfortunate for his situation that his prodding lead to Trowa realizing certain things about him. He probably _was_ the mysterious guy old Catherine had mentioned before.

"I'm just waiting for you to --"

"You're waiting for me to come on to you?"

Trowa nodded.

"Just what kind of pervert are you?"

"You started it."

Somehow, the sophisticated and aloof man he met upon arriving at the house no longer existed. All that was left of mysterious Trowa was a strange ghost intent on getting a piece of him. Sure it was flattering, but it was also unsettling.

"I don't want to pee on the bed," Quatre said with a quick shake of his head. If he wasn't incessant enough, Trowa wouldn't let him go. He was blocking his way. Long legs were laid out while the upper half of his body was propped up with nothing more than a hand. He looked comfortable where he was. Quatre didn't exactly want to know how it felt like to go through a ghost.

"Please..."

Acquiescing to his request, Trowa suddenly disappeared. Quatre sighed and then ran for the bathroom, Noam following close behind.

"What would you like for breakfast?"

Quatre almost missed his aim as Trowa materialized right next to the bathtub. Noam could only continue barking in an attempt to watch over him and drive the intruder away. Quatre, however, mourned the loss of his privacy.

"Can't you at least let me pee in peace?" Quatre nearly screamed to which Trowa disappeared and Noam let out a meek whimper before leaving him alone as well. "Thank you," Quatre said with much gratitude. He really had to do something about Trowa. It was driving him crazy. Besides, just how _did_ Trowa make breakfast anyway? The guy was dead.

"You require bacon, something to fatten you up a bit more."

"Trowa, I need to take a shower. Could you please reappear after maybe fifteen minutes? And what do you mean fatten me up? Speak for yourself."

The guy obviously needed to rest in peace, so he could find peace as well. Trowa's new, emerging character was disturbing. Too bad he couldn't leave the house. Every time he attempted to exit, Trowa was always there waiting for him. Just last night he'd almost sneaked out of the window when the guy suddenly blew him a cold one. Needless to say, the back of his neck felt frosted for the rest of the night. If he'd known that Trowa was the possessive type, he would have shut his mouth in the first place. Then again, he couldn't really shut his mouth even if it meant his life.

"I'll be waiting for you at the kitchen."

What was left for him now? He was playing house with a dead guy. Even his single life in the city couldn't beat that. Quatre began to wonder what was more pathetic. He supposed that at least someone appreciated him around here.

"Come up with any ideas, Noam?" Quatre said as he brushed his teeth. Noam remained quiet beside him, only whining every now and then whenever he heard Trowa's voice. "I can't exactly leave him alone either."

His goal, more than anything, was to find a way to get Trowa to go back to wherever it was dead people went. He was pretty sure that they didn't continue to stay amongst the living since Trowa had been the first dead fellow he'd seen in all his life. Dead people belonged somewhere and Trowa needed to go there quickly. The guy must be bored out of his mind.

"I'm waiting."

Although, with the way things were going, it seemed more like Trowa was enjoying himself far too much. Quatre supposed it was better that way for the time being. An angry Trowa was not one to look forward to either. Just the thought of dead corpses splayed on his bedroom floors at one time or another gave him the courage to be patient for just a bit longer.

oOo

Every night was pretty much the same. Quatre would seek Trowa out in the old, dusty room to try to convince him that he was much too young to let the rest of his life pass by in the old house. No matter which topic he picked, Trowa would always respond with an intelligent and very logical answer. It drove Quatre nuts trying to reason with him. That night, however, Quatre decided to hit it where it hurts.

"Trowa, just because that guy turned you down doesn't mean that you have to take it out on me."

"Who told you I was turned down?"

The mood turned dark. It wasn't that Quatre didn't expect it; he was just surprised that he wasn't as prepared for it as he thought he was. Trowa, when serious, could get very scary.

"Umm, some guy," Quatre said carefully. He didn't know the old guy's name, so he had nothing more to offer Trowa.

"And I suppose that gives you the courage to do the same to me?"

Somehow, that side of Trowa was a little more alluring. Quatre couldn't help but appreciate the way his already deep voice went down a notch. Even his lazy eyes looked more sensual when he was angry. His non-existent form radiated power and respect, just like the elegance he'd always associated with the other man.

"I'm going crazy," Quatre muttered to himself, although his sanity may have left him even before he began having those types of thoughts about Trowa.

"I'm not being mean, alright," Quatre then said in response to Trowa's earlier inquiry, holding his hand up in defense. "It's just that if I'm supposed to be that _guy_ then I've at least been reborn once over. You, however, are still the same. That means that the person you're supposed to be right now must be waiting for you to transfer that spirit somewhere. It's just a theory."

"A theory?" Trowa questioned. "I have a theory for you as well. There must be some fool out there walking around with half a soul."

Quatre blinked, not having come up with the possibility himself.

"Explain," Quatre said, unconsciously moving closer to him. It was a habit when someone had something interesting to say. He tended to crave new information because it did well to give him ideas, if not inspirations, for his stories.

"What is there to explain? The alternate reason I just gave you is plausible enough to understand on its own."

Quatre pouted without realizing it, sticking his lips out and forming a frown. Why did it have to be that way? In the mornings, Trowa was almost to the point of playful and accommodating, but came nighttime he became too engrossed in the same book he'd been reading for weeks. It was as if the book meant so much to him. Quatre couldn't understand himself either. Why was he so reluctant in the morning and giddy at night? Couldn't they find a time when they were both agreeable?

"I think I'm almost jealous of my own book," Quatre said as he watched Trowa lovingly caress each page as he turned them over. Even after so much handling the book still looked brand new.

"I've already told you," Trowa answered without taking his eyes off the book. "While you might be marginally attractive, your book is far more captivating."

"Marginally attractive?" Quatre said in indignation. "What does that mean?"

"You weave words together so well. Why don't you tell me?"

"Because I'm not the person who _ came up_ with the words 'marginally attractive'. How should I know what you mean by them?"

"You were insulted by my words. I could tell at least that much," Trowa responded. "What is it you want me to say, Quatre?"

Quatre was taken aback by the way Trowa had said his name. It was almost like he never said it and yet for some reason, it still hung in the air as if waiting to be blown away. Quatre had to wonder if that was what it felt like to be attracted to someone. They become an enigma, such that every little nuance about them became remarkable.

"Forget it," Quatre said. Every time he found Trowa attractive, he found himself a little less desirable. Why was it that Trowa's grace brought out his insecurities?

"You've wanted me to say something for so long. Why don't you just say it," Trowa insisted.

This time, Quatre couldn't resist answering.

"I... I want you to tell me that I'm nothing without my book," he said without thinking first.  
"Without that thing preceding my reputation, I'd just be some lackluster guy with the face of some kid who didn't get enough sunlight."

"That's what you believe," Trowa responded. If he was trying to be helpful then it wasn't working. "Before you try to convince me to leave then maybe you should take care of your own troubles first."

Insulted and angry that he'd been figured out so easily, Quatre crossed his arms. He didn't have to take that kind of abuse from a dead guy. He was perfectly fine if not for the little insecurities here and there. He could only blame it all on his father. Even when he'd found himself good at something, he still felt inadequate, as if his accomplishments were mere covers for what he was trying to hide. At least, that's what his father had said. Why couldn't he be as normal as the next guy?

"You know everything, don't you?" Quatre said without thinking it through. He was outraged enough to leave the room without Trowa's answer.

As he stomped his way toward his room, Quatre thought about it further. It enraged him that some guy he was supposed to be a lifetime ago was an attractive, seductive persona that Trowa found desirable. He, however, was some guy with an equally desirable book and nothing else. It didn't make sense, but it seemed as though he was jealous of himself.

"I.. I could be a great guy to be with even if I'm not all that, right, Noam?" he said without checking if his furry pal was in fact, right next to him. "Noam?" he asked again when there was no answer.

Quatre blinked, checking under his bed and out his bedroom door to find his buddy. It was odd that he was forgetting about Noam a lot lately. He'd even forgotten to take him home with him that one night.

"Noam?" Quatre called out. It was odd that his always present mass of fur didn't jump on him yet. Noam was as loyal as they came.

"Why is it that speaking the truth always gets me in trouble?"

Quatre almost jumped when the creature he was looking for made an appearance right next to his leg. Not only that, he was also carrying Trowa's voice along with him.

"What did you do to him?" Quatre asked into the empty space surrounding him. "Why didn't he come to me when I called?"

"You're speaking of this mutt, aren't you?" Trowa responded although he was still not visible to the naked eye. His voice continued to come out of Noam's mouth. "Perhaps he also finds some truth in what I said."

"You're turning him against me," Quatre accused. He was almost frantic as he knelt down to hug his only known friend protectively.

"Why would I do such a thing?"

"Because you're evil," Quatre responded. "What did you do to him?"

"He's concerned about you, you know," Trowa responded instead of answering his question.

"How would you know that?"

"Despite my inability to get along well with canines, I do have a gift when it comes to animals. I can understand them as much as they can understand me. We had a little chat - me and Noam over here. It seems I've hit a sore spot."

"Why should you care," Quatre said as he buried his head in day-old fur and sulked.

"Because you'd done the same to me earlier and I didn't exactly find it any more pleasant than you have."

Quatre raised his head. He did feel a little sheepish although he was still upset. It wasn't just Noam's sudden disappearance that bothered him. It was Trowa's words that continued to burn in his mind.

"I'm sorry," Quatre said. He guessed he deserved it. "And why do you keep on speaking through Noam? You could come out now, you know," he suggested.

"I feel as though I will receive the same affection when speaking through the creature you love most."

"Huh?"

"You are as oblivious as ever," Trowa said before he materialized and sat on the mattress.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly."

Quatre gave up for the time being, glad that they were at least getting along again. He didn't know what he would have done had he continued to feel miserable. Alive or not, Trowa had been his only human contact save for old Catherine who hadn't showed up in a week. He did miss the homely old woman, but he had to admit, Trowa was more pleasing to the eye.

"What do you mean by speaking the truth always gets you in trouble?" Quatre questioned with a quiet voice. If there was any time to be serious, it was now.

"I rarely converse with random strangers, but when I do, I always speak the truth."

"Did he really turn you down?" Quatre asked before sitting down next to him. He placed his elbow atop his knee and his chin against his palm. Noam was close to follow. His buddy remained silent.

"Yes, and with no reason at all. I suppose I'll never know what was on his mind. That was, until I read your book."

Quatre rolled his eyes. There was just no stopping it. The book was like the twin brother he could never get rid of. This time, however, it didn't bother him as much. In some ways his novel was the other part of him he could never openly express. It was daring and fun and it was unafraid. It was the word his manager had used to describe it and he couldn't agree more. Nobody had known who he was, giving him the freedom to explore the openness of his made-up world.

"I'm not the only one walking around with half a soul."

Unprepared for what Trowa said Quatre's hand slipped away from his chin, causing him to jerk forward. It was a hand held out to Noam's back that stopped him from falling face first on the floor. How odd that Trowa had noticed what he couldn't figure out until now.

"Maybe it had been me you'd been talking about all along," Quatre said, laying flat on the mattress just to make sure his face would never meet the floor. He looked at the ceiling above him, only now noticing how some of the wood curled on the edges because of its age. Despite that, the old house remained where it was, unmoving with the passage of time. In most ways, it was like him.

"I'm really scared of going out and meeting people you know," Quatre continued speaking his mind. "My father's sent me to counseling many times before, forcing me to face the outside world. It's funny how well I've finally acclimated to someone, only to find out that he's already dead."

"We both are."

To that, Quatre laughed, putting a hand over his stomach.

"I'm just about ready to come to life," he then said with a smile. "But first, I've got to figure out how to get rid of you. No offense Trowa, but there's just something not right about you going on a killing spree."

Quatre looked up to see Trowa shrug. With the way he looked, it was almost hard to believe that he really was a hostile ghost intent on killing young men. In fact, he looked endearing with the way he began to fiddle with his fingers. Quatre thought it felt like the teenage years he never had when kids would just hang out on a lazy day.

"Too bad," Quatre said as he continued to look at Trowa. "I don't really want to let you go."

Just like that, Trowa's form suddenly disappeared.


	13. Chapter 13

**The Ventriloquist****  
**Part Thirteen

He'd been deliberating about it for days. In his head it sounded like the best solution and yet he could not get himself to do it. He couldn't look Trowa in the eye and say it. Somehow the words 'it's time to go' felt wrong. He'd grown an attraction to this man despite the fact that he was already dead. Some days he would even go so far as to think that he could build a life around him.

"Grrr."

Quatre looked at his currently agitated pet. Surely, Noam didn't feel the same way, but at least he'd been more tolerant of Trowa these past few weeks. Perhaps the furry fiend was merely sympathizing with him, but he suspected that the amiable interactions with the ghost were not entirely for his sake.

"What's wrong buddy?"

Looking away from the coffee table he'd been staring at and into the source of the distress, Quatre was troubled to find a rat in front of them. Not only did Noam not like the creature, it was also a sign of less than sanitary surroundings. He was living in a decaying house where the only life that could be claimed legitimate were those of his, his pet, and varied rodents infesting the place. These were obvious signs that he had to move out soon.

"Leave it alone Noam," Quatre said with a bored wave of his hand in hopes to shoo off the creature. He knew that any sudden moves by the rather large rodent and the dog would surely follow. Getting Trowa angry for messing up his house was not one of his favorite pastimes. He'd rather not be kicked out again, especially not in this kind of gloomy weather.

"Noam," Quatre warned while holding on to his pet's collar when his buddy moved threateningly forward. "Let it go," he pleaded one last time.

The shaggy canine did not listen, only leapt forward while he was holding on. The act caused Quatre to stumble forward and crash face first onto the aging floor. Noam took off for the chase while Quatre groaned in a state of disarray.

"I don't need this right now," he complained to thin air. He had a lot of deep thinking to do.

"Are you alright, sonny?"

A bit startled at the appearance of a new guest, Quatre picked himself up off the floor. Sudden appearances happened often enough that he was not surprised, but he did not expect to see the old man he'd seen only once from the local grocery store - if you could call it that - on Trowa's living room. The elderly gentleman looked nervous as he held with caution on a nearby chair. A cane was situated on his right hand for support.

"I'm fine," Quatre said as he dusted off his clothes. Trowa's place really was dusty even after he'd attempted to clean it several times over. There was nothing more he could do. There were only so many repairs he could do before the house fell apart.

"This place is not conducive for your well-being," his uninvited guest voiced.

"Same thing I was thinking," Quatre muttered before presenting the man with a smile and an outstretched hand.

"What brings you here today?" he inquired. Really, Trowa had a bad habit of scaring off strangers so it was best if he dealt with pleasantries as quickly as he could and ushered the man out of the house before Trowa noticed there was someone uninvited in his house.

"I would like to offer to escort you out of our town."

It wasn't the first time he was told to leave, so Quatre's response was to smile in courtesy before shaking his head. He would leave soon but not now. He was still quite attached to the phantom that inhabited the place. Leaving now would mean abandoning him. He knew for sure that there was something he could do.

"I can't," Quatre said. "I can't leave until I finish something."

"Your book can be finished elsewhere."

Quatre blinked. He hadn't even been working on the book for weeks. He let his pen and notebook collect cobwebs in his room ever since he started worrying about Trowa's possible ill-intentions toward him. Needing to work for a living, Quatre felt guilty for letting himself and Noam down. If he didn't finish his second book then there was no guarantee that he could survive them both for the next year. He was skinny enough as it was and there was no way in hell he was going to ask his father for help. The man was insufferable.

"It's not the book," Quatre responded while his mind told him that it should be all about the book. That was the reason why he was shipped to the middle of nowhere. He was supposed to be collecting inspirations and cramming them into the pages of his forgotten notebook.

"Catherine," the man said next. He seemed to hesitate for a bit before continuing. "She is playing you."

"Playing me?" Quatre said with disbelief. Was he that naive not to notice or was the man simply trying to drive him away by smearing the good old lady's name?

"I'm sorry, but I happen to know that she's a very nice person," Quatre defended the lady he'd grown fond of.

The old man snarled as if insulted by his statement. He shifted his weight from one arm to another as he replaced his hold on a nearby chair.

"Who do you think invited you?"

"I was forced to live here by my manager," Quatre responded immediately although what the man was getting at did make some sense. He was not so blind as to deny the possibilities.

"Where did your manager find the listing?"

"In the newspaper maybe?" he said next. He was really starting to worry as the pieces were slowly coming together. Still, he refused to believe what his mind was telling him.

"And who do you think put up the ad in the newspaper?"

"Trowa?" Quatre responded even when he knew better. Perhaps ghosts had some magical powers, but to actually put up an ad in a newspaper required quite a bit of human assistance.

"Think about it young man," the old man said with concern. "Who do you think prepares the meals that the ghost of this house feeds you? This ghost can't even sustain a grip on you much less touch any object to make it into something for you to consume. Let your common sense run freer boy. You don't know what mess you've gotten into."

Quatre frowned. First Trowa was trying to kill him and now it was old Catherine? He had to get the story straight and at that moment, he could not figure out who to believe. Was it not Trowa who'd dealt horrible deaths to the previous boarders of the place? He certainly did have the skill to turn friends against each other with his mischievous use of a once adored skill in ventriloquism. Indirect murder was possible. Only, he could no longer imagine Trowa being capable of doing such a thing. Sure, he was arrogant, but there was a gentle side to him that suggested civility and conscience.

"Trowa wouldn't have me killed," Quatre voiced out loud. He believed it wholeheartedly.

"Are you sure?" the old man asked. "Why would he not when you are Catherine's offering to him?"

Quatre stepped back. So he was like a sacrifice? It didn't sit well with him either that he was still a virgin. He was technically a virgin sacrifice. When would his role as a helpless pseudo-maiden ever stop? He was a man no matter how much his father believed him to be a sissy. This was ludicrous.

"Look," the man continued as he started to walk out the door. "Usually, folks in this town don't care either way. The killings have happened so many times that it isn't even anything to blink an eye about anymore, but when I saw you I felt pity. For some reason you remind me of him - the boy nobody knew."

"I don't look like him," Quatre said quickly lest the man leave without allowing him an answer.

"You are right," the old man responded before a pause. "You look nothing like him nor does your upbeat personality come close to his detachment. Still, you are different than all those who came before you. You are not here merely to seek adventure. You don't understand why you ended up in this place and neither did he."

"But I have a purpose," Quatre said in his own defense. "I would like to stop all this," he announced next.

"Best wishes to you, boy," the old man said before leaving through the back door.

Quatre let out a loud sigh. He was trying to help. That was all.

"Rather presumptuous, wasn't he?"

Almost jumping a foot, Quatre quickly placed a hand on his chest. He hated it when Trowa caught him off-guard especially when the topic of the most recent discussion was about him. It wasn't a matter of fearing for his own safety. For some reason, he knew that the master of the house respected him. It was a matter of making sure that he would not cause harm to anyone else. Trowa was threatening in a whole other level. Simply having him stare at you was enough to make you scream in terror. Those eyes were just too cold.

"I believe him," Quatre replied after gathering himself to look more dignified.

"Surely you do not believe his stories," Trowa said with a bored wave of his hand. "Such things could be easily fabricated to sound believable."

Trowa then took a seat facing him and crossed his legs. An elegant hand then positioned itself against his cheek and drummed against the supple yet pale skin.

"I believe his logic," Quatre answered, not choosing to take a seat. His current height advantage, however little, gave him a bit more courage to go on. These were rare instances. He did not usually stand up to Trowa's demanding presence.

"Do you?" Trowa said with a wicked grin. "Such an easy sacrifice you are then."

Where was Noam when you needed him? His shaggy pet must have still been chasing after that rodent he found. Really, that dog always interrupted potential make-out sessions but seemed to disappear when he needed him to barge in and scare Trowa away into thin air.

Still, this was the perfect opportunity. Perhaps Noam's temporary disappearance would allow him to finally face his oppressor. Indeed, that was what Trowa was. He was the bully in every way despite the fact that he was dead gorgeous and untouchable. He was a trial - a very difficult trial. This attraction; this interest; this near-obsession had to end. Otherwise, he was going to rot the rest of his life away in this house. Perchance this was what Trowa intended all along.

"It's about time you allowed me to break free of this place," he said with a firmness he didn't know he possessed. "Have the mercy to free me before I fall for you completely."

"But you are such a precious find," Trowa answered with a tilt of his head. "I've decided to replace him with you."

Quatre did not step back, only moved forward as his nerves started to shake. He still believed Trowa was a kind man no matter how many contradictions to that belief he witnessed. He blamed the years of bloodshed Trowa experienced as the reason for his unstable personality. In fact, if he were alive today, Quatre would declare him mentally insane.

"No," Quatre said as he moved closer to Trowa. "You are not making me a substitute for anyone. I will destroy him so you can follow him. When he is good and gone, you can no longer exist."

His words sounded thoughtless, but they were words of someone who wanted the best for the deceased Mr. Barton. His soul, Quatre was sure, was tortured with repeated killings. Those killings were enough to destroy who he really was - a man with a conscience. How did he know Trowa had a conscience? Someone without a conscience would not go insane from guilt and as far as he could tell, Trowa was deeply disturbed.

"You speak courageous words," Trowa responded, once again looking bored as he leaned back against the dusty couch. "Catherine made a mistake when she delivered you to me."

"That is enough!" Quatre said with a firm stomp of his foot. He knew Trowa was trying to scare him again and as scared as he really was, he had to stand up for himself sometimes.

"Stop trying to confuse me," he continued as anger flared from within him. "I want the truth. You owe me that much for recreating your lover from the ashes. I wasn't going to take credit for that, but then again, it was I who wrote the book. Therefore, I breathed life into him."

"That was rather harsh," Trowa said with a miniature frown. It was some of the best reactions Quatre had gotten from him so far.

"I want answers!" Quatre screamed this time. The sudden increase in volume caused Noam to suddenly appear next to him. The creature let out an almost whimper as it hid itself in Quatre's leg. Nevertheless, Quatre held his stance while consoling his pet with one hand. The shaggy dog calmed down enough to rest by his feet.

"You are indeed Catherine's offering to me," Trowa started without further prompting. This time, he was looking at the carpet instead of directly at him. Intimidation really did work wonders sometimes. "However, you presented complications. You came alone with the book whose essence I believe holds the key to my once love. I was going to have Catherine slay you, just like the way she helped murder all those other young men. She befriended you to get close enough to you, but I humored you simply because I wanted to. My ill-intentions toward you died the moment I found myself falling for you."

"That's a lie," Quatre said in spite. "You love him. You love my book," he said with anger. He really was quite resentful. The pretty trapeze artist was dead and his own book was inanimate. He should have been the first choice, but he wasn't. Still, his frustrations were not the issue here.

"Believe what you will," Trowa continued. "But because I care for you, Catherine's hatred for you grew. She is rather protective of me - that woman. She believes you will hurt me and she is right."

The tension on Quatre's face slackened as he formed a frown. He was not the bad guy here. How did it turn out that way?

"I'd like to ask permission to burn down your house," he said next.

Trowa tilted his head in a curious manner before he rose up in anger.

"You shall do no such thing," he roared.

Quatre felt the very threatening frame approach him. As he remained in place, he kept reminding himself that Trowa couldn't do anything more than throw his voice or distort his image to look menacing. Sure, he'd touched him a few times before, but their contact never lasted for too long. He had reason to believe that it took some effort for Trowa to partially solidify himself for a short period of time.

He was not prepared and he had no idea an opportunity like this was going to come so soon, but Quatre decided to follow through with his plan. He picked up his book from the nearby coffee table and held it in front of his soon to be ex-landlord.

"We're all pitiful," he proclaimed. "When I wrote this, I was misguided. In fact, I'm still misguided. You're the same way. We should be somewhere else facing reality, not indulging in this would be romance that will never happen. I decided that, if given the chance, I'd like to face the world just a little more bravely. That will not happen if I'm fixated on the dead - particularly you. You're the same way. You have to let him go and because I witness your tortured soul and what it has done to others, I'll do it for you."

Quatre chucked his very first novel into the fireplace. Trowa could only do so much. Phantom hands tried to save the bound pages of prettied words borne from naïveté, but it was fruitless. The fire crackled and the book slowly burned.

Trowa was silent for a moment as he watched the flames consume the love that he'd already lost once. How ironic that it was also fire that destroyed him the second time.

"I'm going back to the city," Quatre said as he led Noam toward the door. "I'm burning down your house. There's no longer any need for you to stay. Maybe if your theory is correct, the other half of you that wanders the Earth will find its missing twin. When that happens, I hope you'll be merciful enough to forgive me for trying. Goodbye Trowa."

Quatre exited the house he'd inhabited and bade farewell. All his clothes and belongings were still inside, but he felt that those no longer needed to be retrieved. He could always start with a whole new set of things just like he could start with a new life less afraid of everything.

Watching as Trowa continued to stand where he was, Quatre held Noam's leash while retrieving the aging can of kerosene he'd found in the basement during one of his many house cleanings. There was no way he could light a fire with no match and the humidity outside.

"Great, just when I made my dramatic exit," Quatre said as he put the can of kerosene down on the steps and reentered the house.

"Excuse me," he said as he squeezed himself between Trowa and the fireplace. He picked up a random piece of furniture, which happened to be a chair, and broke it apart. The leg was used to transfer some of the flame from the fireplace to the aging wood.

"Maybe one day I'll find you again," Trowa whispered quietly. To Quatre, his words felt more like a brush of lips on his ear.

"Maybe," Quatre whispered back as he exited the house once again.

Leaving the door open, Quatre rounded the house haphazardly spilling kerosene around the rotten structure. When the can was empty and when Noam had been instructed not to go near the fire even with Trowa still inside, Quatre threw the burning wood in his hand into the front porch. Like an immortal thirsting for its ending, the old house welcomed the fire with no protest. It allowed itself to perish by letting the flames kiss every part of its long-lived and decaying edifice. It crackled a soothing hue and emitted a welcomed heat in the cold. Quatre was thinking thoughts of being charged with arson, but that only served to make him feel a little bolder and a little less terrified of all the little things that always seemed to bother him before.

Inside, Trowa continued to stare at the already burned book when Noam suddenly barked. That was when his former landlord turned to face them.

"Goodbye," his shining green eyes seemed to say from his distance amidst the roaring flames. "And thank you."

Quatre nodded once in acknowledgment of the gratitude before himself turning away from the scene. With nothing but the clothes on his back and Noam by his side, he made his way to the nearest bus stop the next town over. Thoughts that he would have to live off his father again were far from his mind as the plot to his next novel came to life. Maybe this move wasn't so bad after all.


	14. Epilogue

**The Ventriloquist  
**Epilogue

Quatre sipped on his drink and pushed his slipping glasses back into its proper position. His filled notebook was dangling off his left foot and his laptop was just as equally dangling between part of his right thigh and part of the couch as a pencil seesawed from side to side just between the bottom of his nose and above his lip. This balance was achieved through flawless concentration while he was in the process of substituting a rather clichéd line in page 172 of his increasingly lengthening manuscript.

"That still sounds awful," he murmured as he reached for a bright green post-it in the coffee table in front of him and slapped it on the notebook. The pencil resting on his lip fell with precision to his awaiting hand before being put to better use. Words were written on the sticky note before being arranged so that it was hanging off the edge of the notebook.

"I'll get back to you later," Quatre spoke to the notebook. He observed his handiwork. Multi-colored sticky notes hanging from almost every part of the abused and overstuffed notebook flapped with the gentle breeze coming in from his two foot by three foot balcony. He figured he was just about done when he started typing early that morning. How banal that he would find so many faults just when it was on the verge of becoming complete.

"Quatre, you are one hard to please nitpicker," he scolded himself.

Fighting commenced just outside his window, a very common occurrence in this part of the city. Although he was high up in the building, furious men and women still did manage to drown out the sounds of speeding vehicles and honking cars.

Quatre paused at the thought that entered his mind at the most inappropriate moment. He was almost getting over the fact that he left that strange, old town and its many peculiar inhabitants. That was an experience that he'd manage to bring with him over the course of many months. He wouldn't say he was lonely, but thinking about that place made him pause and think.

"Start concentrating Quatre," he reminded himself.

When was Noam when he needed a distraction? His deadline was set for the end of the week which meant that he had less than two days left to finish editing and typing his work.

"Oh yeah," he said out loud. "He's out for a walk."

Quatre pouted in the presence of no one but himself and threw his pencil across his tiny living room. That living room also served as his kitchen and dining room. Not for the first time, he noticed that the place was small enough that he'd only have to walk a few steps to retrieve it. This was not working. He'd go crazy if he continued to work.

"Save me," he wailed. He was almost at the point of losing his mind and just as he was about to throw the rest of his things to the floor, the door behind him opened. At least someone was back.

"Darling," the creature who entered said in a very sexy voice. "Have you missed me?"

Quatre raised his brow as Noam approached him. His shaggy pet sat before him and tilted its head just enough so that the adorable nose was further emphasized.

"Baby, you are one hot--"

"Hold it," Quatre interrupted his pet's rather disturbing flirt session.

Noam abandoned his rumpus' positioning on the floor and placed both front paws on either side of him before leaning forward. Quatre had no choice but to put down all his things lest his days of typing be deleted and his hours of sticky note arranging be ruined.

"How about it, lover? How about a steamy late morning romp?" Noam said as it licked the side of his face sloppily.

"Nice job you pervert," Quatre said as he felt for Noam's leash buried in his shaggy fur and pulled out the voice player hiding there. "What made you think that you could go ahead and use Noam to make a move on me?" he questioned as he turned his head toward the perpetrator.

He was greeted with the sight of a grinning but very stunning man with a video camera hanging from one hand.

"I thought you found ventriloquism a turn-on?"

Quatre turned back to Noam and rubbed his hands against the creature's furry head.

"That wasn't ventriloquism and there is no way you're going to get me on video indulging in bestiality -- you sick pervert," he added.

"Believe me. That wasn't the intention," was the quiet answer. "Are you anywhere near done?" he was asked as he felt a kiss from behind.

"Nope," Quatre answered. He turned his head to kiss the man back. Noam could only growl in annoyance as its master's attention was seized.

"I don't like dogs much," his companion commented for what seemed like the hundredth time since he met him. "I prefer cats."

Quatre smiled as he turned his attention back to the still growling Noam.

"Triton will never come between us," he assured the shaggy sheepdog. Noam's response was to lick him in the face. "For a canine who hates cats, you sure end up having to put up with a lot of cat-people."

"Haven't you heard? Cat lovers are sexy," Triton said before taking space next to him. Unwilling to be upstaged by a dog, he lifted Quatre's shirt and licked his stomach instead. It looked as if there was no way he was willing to lick dog saliva off the now damp neck.

Quatre yelped in surprise. Noam's response was to lunge at Triton and bark.

"You sure are possessive," he addressed the dog.

"So tell me," Triton said ignoring the agitated pet for the meantime. "Did the voice-throwing turn you on?"

"I just said it's not ventriloquism," Quatre said with a sigh. "Using modern technology doesn't count," he said firmly.

Truthfully, however, his current partner did have the knack for pushing just the right buttons. He didn't know what it was - the dry humor awfully delivered or the lush collection of brown hair almost hiding his pretty eyes. This guy almost reminded him of Trowa minus the arrogance. He still could not believe it was his father who introduced him to this guy. The old man was a pain in the neck, but he sure did come through for him in a most unexpected way.

"What exactly is it that you think about all the time? You've got that distracted look in your eyes again."

"I don't know," Quatre answered after being poked at the ribs and glaring at the offender. "You just remind me of someone I knew except that he was a grouch and you aren't."

"I could be a grouch if you want?" was the offer.

Quatre paused, unsure as to why it sounded appealing. Was he not over Trowa yet? The guy was dead, he had to remind himself. It was crazy to be attached to a guy who didn't exist enough to be considered a former lover. Was he ruining a perfectly normal relationship with a guy he was in love with?

"Tell you what," Triton interrupted his thoughts with that deep, sexy voice he had. "How about we take a quick bath and cleanse you of dog germs?"

Quatre frowned. He wasn't dirty at all and he was sure Noam's saliva was a hundred times cleaner than any of theirs. He crossed his arms and refused to move. Thinking about Trowa always put him in a rut.

"I don't want to do anything," he pouted.

Just when he was about to curl up in the couch, Triton suddenly blew on his nose. Quatre blinked in surprise and stared at him.

"Why did you do that?" he asked.

It felt eerily familiar, just like his heroine's actions on the second line of page 134 of his first book.

"That was from my book! You said you've never read any of my books," Quatre accused.

Triton shrugged. He got out of his seat and into the bathroom. Not soon after, the water started. Quatre sighed and then fell back on his seat. There was, beyond a doubt, something wrong with him. He was ruining a perfectly good relationship. With the way he kept on reminiscing about Trowa, Noam was likely going to end up as his only companion in life.

"Better get to the shower before I finish up all the hot water," Noam suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

Quatre blinked in slight relief that Triton had not been too affected by his attitude. He was also surprised when he remembered that he had taken out the voice recorder out of Noam's leash earlier.

"Ha, ha," he said dryly as he reached for his pet and felt around for another hidden device. Strangely enough, he didn't find one. Quatre searched around more fervently in the shaggy fur, hoping to find the source of Triton's voice. When he again came up with nothing, Quatre's eyes widened with mortification. Did this mean what he thought it meant?

"Was that a turn-on enough for you or what?" Noam spoke next.

Forgetting his book for the meantime, Quatre made a mad dash for the shower, stripping his clothes off along the way. The ventriloquist in there would most certainly get what was coming to him. How could he not have figured it out after all this time?

"Bastard," he muttered along the way.

All Noam could do while he sat meekly next to the closed bathroom door was howl in annoyance. Who knew that his master would end up with the creepy freak after all? Certainly not him.

The End.


End file.
